I     LIBRARY 

Ui.iVLK  .IIY  OF 

CALIr  C'rtNIA 
SAM    L^GO       ' 


Love  Songs  of  Scotland 

JEWELS  OF  THE  TENDER  PASSION 
SELECTED  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 
BURNS,  TANNAHILL,  SCOTT,  RAMSAY, 
LADY  NAIRNE,  MACNEILL,  JAMIESON, 
HOGG,  DOUGLAS,  ALLAN,  tf  OTHERS 

With  a  Glossary 

Selected  and  Edited  by 

ROBERT   W.    DOUGLAS 


NEW   AMSTERDAM    BOOK    COMPANY 
156  FIFTH  AVENUE  :  NEW  YORK.  CITY  :  1901 


Copyright,  /<?£>/,  by 
NEW  AMSTERDAM  BOOK  COMPANY 


PREFACE 


THIS  unpretentious  collection  of  Scottish 
Love  Songs  is  intended  to  form  a  compan- 
ion volume  to  the  "Love  Songs  of  France," 
which  has  received  considerable  favor  from 
the  public,  both  in  this  country  and  abroad. 
It  is  hoped  that  the  "Love  Songs  of  Scot- 
land" will  not  prove  less  acceptable  than 
the  former  work,  although,  of  course,  there 
are  many  more  collections  of  Scottish  poetry 
before  the  English-speaking  public  than  of 
French. 

The  scope  of  the  present  book  is  necessar- 
ily very  limited,  and  many  representative 
pieces  which  otherwise  should  have  been  in- 
cluded are  perforce  omitted,  not  because  of 
unworthiness,  but  for  simple  lack  of  space. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  is  no  literature  in 
the  world  so  rich  in  poems  of  the  tender  pas- 
sion as  that  of  Scotland.  Indeed,  there  is  a 
very  embarrassment  of  riches  in  this  field, 
and  the  great  difficulty  has  been  to  suppress 
one's  inclinations  and  resolutely  reject  many 
gems  which  by  their  perfection  of  beauty  and 


PREFACE 

strength  of  passion  should  have  a  place  in 
this  collection.  All  that  could  be  done  was 
to  include  a  few  of  the  undoubted  favorites 
which  have  stood  the  test  of  time.  These 
are  to  be  given  a  dainty  setting,  from 
whence,  it  is  hoped,  they  will  shine  in  no  in- 
ferior lustre  in  comparison  with  their  com- 
panions from  a  sunnier  clime. 

ROBERT  W.  DOUGLAS. 


CONTENTS 


ROBERT   ALLAN. 

PAGE 

CXII.  Blink  over  the  Burn,  my  Sweet  Betty  166 

CV.  Bonnie  Lassie 158 

LXVIL  Bonnie  Lass  o'  Woodhouselee,  The     .  101 

CXV.  Lovely  Maid  of  Ormadale,  The           .  170 

LXI.  Thistle  and  the  Rose,  The           .        .  93 

WILLIAM  ANDERSON. 
CXXXIII.    I  Canna  Sleep 198 

ANONYMOUS. 

LXXVII.  Adieu  for  Evermore       ....  114 

LXII.  As  I  Cam'  Down  the  Canongate        .  95 

XXX.    Ettrick  Banks 44 

XXXI.  Sae  Merry  as  We  Twa  ha'e  Been        .  46 

DR.  BLACKLOCK. 
XXVII.    Braes  of  Ballandine,  The     ...     40 

JOANNA    BA1LLIE. 
XXXVIII.    Maid  of  Llanwellyn,  The     .        .        .     56 

ALEXANDER  BALFOUR. 
LXXXVIII.    Slighted  Love 132 


viii  CONTENTS 

JOHN  STUART  BLACKIE. 


PAGE 

CXXVII. 

A  Sprig  of  White  Heather 

.  188 

SIR 

ALEXANDER  BOSWELL,  BART. 

CXVIII. 

Good-night,  and  Joy  be  wi'  Ye  A' 

.   175 

CXVII. 

Jenny's  Bawbee     .... 

173 

ROBERT  BURNS. 

L' 

1 

LX. 

Birks  of  Aberfeldy 

.      92 

LXXIV. 

Bonnie  Wee  Thing,  The 

.   Ill 

LXVI. 

Comin'  Through  the  Rye     . 

.   100 

XXXIX. 

Corn  Rigs       

.      58 

XIV. 

Flow  Gently,  Sweet  Afton 

.      18 

II. 

Green  Grow  the  Rashes,  O! 

2 

VII. 

Highland  Mary      .... 

9 

XIII. 

John  Anderson,  My  Jo,  John 

.      17 

XXVI. 

Lassie  wi'  the  Lint-  White  Locks 

.      38 

XXXVII. 

Lizzy  Lindsay         .... 

.      55 

XXII. 

Mary  Morison        .... 

.      31 

LXXVI. 

My  Ain  Kind  Dearie,  O 

.   113 

V. 

My  Heart's  in  the  Highlands 

5 

LXXVIII. 

Queen  Mary's  Lament 

.   116 

XLV. 

Sae  Flaxen  Were  her  Ringlets 

.      69 

LXV. 

Somebody       

.      99 

XXVIII. 

Sweet  Closes  the  Evening    . 

.      41 

LXIX. 

Thou  Hast  Left  Me  Ever,  Jamie 

.   105 

THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 

cm. 

Glenara            

.  152 

XCIX. 

Lord  Ullin's  Daughter  . 

.   147 

CONTENTS  ix 

ROBERT  COUPER,  M.D. 

PAfiE 

CVIIL     Kinrara 162 

ROBERT   CRAWFORD. 
III.    Down  the  Burn,  Da-vie          ...        3 

JOHN  BURTT. 
LXXXII.    To  Think  o'  Thee          .        .        .        .122 

ALLAN  CUNNINGHAM. 

CXXI.  Bonnie  Bark,  The          .        .        .  .180 

LXXI.  Bonnie  Mary  Halliday          .        .  .   107 

CI.  Gane  Were  but  the  Wintry  Cauld  .   156 

CXX.  My  Bonnie  Lassie          .        .        .  .179 

CXIV.  My  Lassie  wi'  the  Sunny  Locks  .   169 

ALEXANDER   DOUGLAS. 
LIX.    What  Ails  You  Now      ....     91 

MR.   DOUGLAS. 
X.    Annie  Laurie 13 

REV.    WILLIAM   DUNBAR. 
LXXXY.    Maid  of  Islay,  The         ....  127 

JOHN  FIN  LAY. 
LXX.    Oh!    Dear  Were  the  Joys     .        .        .106 


CONTENTS 
RICHARD   GALL. 

PAGE 

CX.    Bonnie  Blink  o'  Mary's  E'e,  The         .   164 
CIX.    I  Winna  Gang  Back  to  my  Mammy 

again ,163 

XXIX.    My  Only  Jo  and  Dearie,  O  .        .  43 

WILLIAM  GILLESPIE. 
CXIII.    Ellen        .        .        .        .        .        .        .167 

WILLIAM  GLEN. 
CXXVI.    Blink  over  the  Burn,  sweet  Betty      .   186 

ROBERT   GRAHAM   OF   GARTMORE. 
LI.    If  Doughty  Deeds  my  Lady  Please     .      80 

MRS.   GRANT   OF   CARRON. 
XCVI.    Roy's  Wife  of  Aldivalloch     .        .        .144 

MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN. 

XCVII.    Oh,  my  Love,  Leave  me  Not       .        .   145 
XLI.    Oh  Where,  Tell  me  Where     ...      61 

CAPT.   CHARLES   GRAY. 
XII.    The  Black-eed    Lassie  ...     16 

JOHN  HAMILTON. 

XXXIV.  Go  to  Berwick,  Johnnie       .  .  .51 

XCV.  Oh,  Blaw,  Ye  Westlin'  Winds!  .  .   143 

XXIV.  Rantin'  Highlandman,  The  .  .      34 

CVIL  Tell  me,  Jessie,  Tell  me  Why?  .  .   161 


CONTENTS  xi 

HERD'S  MS. 

PAGE 

XIII.    O  Gin  My  Love  Were  Yon  Red  Rose       26 

RICHARD   HEWITT. 
XVII       Roslin  Castle 24 

JAMES   HOGG. 

XL.  Flora  Macdonald's  Lament          .        .  59 

LXVIII.  Gang  to  the  Brackens  wi'  Me     .        .  103 

XCII.  Mischievous  Woman      ....  138 

LXXXIX.  Morn  Was  a  Wanin',  The     .        .        .  133 

LIII.  My  Love  She's  but  a  Lassie  yet         .  83 

XCI.  Rise!    Rise!    Lowland  and  Highland 

Men 136 

XLVI.  Skylark,  The           .....  70 

XXV.  When  the  Kye  Comes  Hame        .        .  36 

LV.  Women  Folk,  The          ....  86 

ALEXANDER  HUME. 
CXXXIV.    Nanny 199 

ROBERT   D.  JAMIESON. 

XI.    My  Wife's  a  Winsome  Wee  Thing         .      14 
IX.    Robin  Adair  12 

C.  JEFFREYS. 
LXXXI.    Mary  of  Argyle 121 

JOHN  LAPRAIK. 
XXXIII.    When  I  upon  thy  Bosom  Lean     .       .     50 


xil  CONTENTS 

STUART    LEWIS. 

PAGE 

XXXVI.    O'er  the  Muir  Amang  the  Heather     .     53 

DR.  JOHN  LEYDEN. 

LXXIII.    Evening  Star,  The         .        .        .        .110 
CXI.    To  Aurelia 165 

JOHN  LOWE. 
LXIV.    Mary's  Dream 98 

THOMAS  LYLE. 
LXIII.    Kelvin  Grove 96 

GEORGE  MACDONALD,  LL.D. 
CXXIII.    An  Autumn  Wind          .        .        .        .183 

HECTOR  MACNEILL. 

XV.  Come  Under  my  Plaidie       ...     19 

CIV.  Donald  and  Flora          155 

CVI.  I  Lo'ed  Ne'er  a  Laddie  but  Ane          .   159 

XXXII.  Saw  Ye  My  Wee  Thing?       ...     47 

JOHN  MAYNE. 
XXIII.    Helen  of  Kirkconnel      ....     32 

MARQUIS    OF  MONTROSE. 
LXXXIII.    I'll  Never  Love  Thee  More  .  .  124 


CONTENTS 
GEORGE  MENZIES. 
CXXV.    Fare  Thee  Weel      .... 

DAVID  MACBETH  MOIR. 
CXXIX.     Heigh-Ho! 

WILLIAM  MOTHERWELL. 
LXXX.    Thy  Bloom  hath  Fled 

LADY  NAIRNE. 

XLII.  Charlie  is  My  Darling 

XCVIII.  Fareweel,  O  Fareweel! 

LXXXVII.  Huntingtower         .... 

XCIV.  Laird  o'  Cockpen,  The 

LIT.  Land  o'  the  Leal,  The 

XXXV.  Lass  o'  Gowrie,  The     . 

XLIII.  Rowan  Tree,  The  ... 

XLIV.  There  Grows  a  Bonnie  Brier  Bush 

C.  Would  You  Be  Young  Again? 

WILLIAM  NICHOLSON. 

CXVI.    Hills  of  the  Highlands,  The 
CXIX.    O  Will  Ye  Go  to  Yon  Burn  Side? 

JAMES  N.  NICOL. 
XC.    Blaw  Saftly,  Ye  Breezes 

ANDREW  PARK. 

CXXX.    Hurrah  for  the  Highlands    . 
CXXII.    Old  Scotland,  I  Love  Thee! 


PAGE 

185 


191 


119 


64 

146 

130 

141 

81 

52 

65 

67 

149 


171 
177 


135 


193 
182 


xiv  CONTENTS 

THOMAS   PRINGLE. 
LXXII.    Farewell  to  Bonnie  Teviotdale 


PAGE 

.  109 


ALLAN  RAMSAY. 

XIX.  Gin  Ye  Meet  a  Bonnie  Lassie 

XXI.  Hap  Me  wi'  thy  Petticoat 

XVI.  Lass  of  Branksome,  The 

XX.  Lochaber  No  More 


27 
30 
22 

28 


ALEXANDER  RODGER. 

CXXXII.    Behave  Yoursel'  Before  Folk        .        .195 
CXXVIII.    Sweet  Bet  of  Aberdeen  .   190 


SIR   WALTER   SCOTT,  BART. 

LXXXVI.    Heath  this  Night  Must  Be  my  Bed, 

The 128 

LXXXIV.     It  was  an  English  Ladye  Bright        .  126 

XCIII.    Soldier,  Rest!    Thy  Warfare  O'er        .139 

XLVIII.    Weary  Lot  is  Thine,  Fair  Maid,  A     .  75 

VI.    Where  Shall  the  Lover  Rest?        .        .  7 

XLVII.    Young  Lochinvar           ....  72 


JOHN  STRUTHERS. 
LXXV.    On  the  Wild  Braes  of  Calder 


.   112 


ROBERT   TANNAH1LL. 

L.  Harper  of  Mull 78 

LVII.  I  Mark'd  a  Gem  of  Pearly  Dew          .      89 

VTTI.  Jessie,  the  Flower  o'  Dunblane  .      10 

LXXIX.  Lass  o'  Arranteenie,  The      .  .118 


CONTENTS  xv 

PAGE 

XLIX.  Mary,  Why  Waste?  ....  76 

LIY.  O,  Are  Ye  Sleepin',  Maggie?  .  .  84 

LVIII.  We'll  Meet  Beside  the  Dusky  Glen  .  90 

LVI.  When  John  and  Me  were  Married  .  88 

DANIEL  WEIR. 
CXXXI.    See  the  Moon 194 

ALEXANDER  WILSON. 
IV.    Dark  Lowers  the  Night        ...       4 

JOHN  WRIGHT. 
CXXIV.    The  Maiden  Fair  .   184 


LOVE  SONGS  OF  SCOTLAND 
I 

AE  FOND  KISS 
(ROBERT  BURNS) 

AE  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever; 
Ae  fareweel,  and  then  forever! 
Deep  in  heart-wrung  tears  I'll  pledge  thee, 
Warring  sighs  and  groans  I'll  wage  thee. 
Who  shall  say  that  fortune  grieves  him 
While  the  Star  of  Hope  she  leaves  him? 
Me,  nae  cheerfu'  twinkle  lights  me; 
Dark  despair  around  benights  me. 

I'll  ne'er  blame  my  partial  fancy, 
Naething  could  resist  my  Nancy; 
And  to  see  her  was  to  love  her; 
Love  but  her,  and  love  forever. 
Had  we  never  loved  so  kindly, 
Had  we  never  loved  sae  blindly, 
Never  met  or  never  parted, 
We  had  ne'er  been  broken-hearted. 
1 


GREEN  GROW  THE  RASHES,  O! 

Fare-thee  weel,  them  first  and  fairest! 
Fare-thee  weel,  thou  best  and  dearest! 
Thine  be  ilka  joy  and  treasure, 
Peace,  enjoyment,  love,  and  pleasure! 
Ae  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever, 
Ae  fareweel,  alas !  forever ! 
Deep  in  heart-wrung  tears  I'll  pledge  thee, 
Warring  sighs  and  groans  I'll  wage  thee. 


II 

GREEN   GROW   THE   RASHES,   0! 
(ROBERT  BURNS) 

THERE'S  nought  but  care  on  ev'ry  han', 
In  every  hour  that  passes,  O; 

What  signifies  the  life  o'  man, 
An  'twere  na  for  the  lassies,  O. 

Green  grow  the  rashes,  O! 

Green  grow  the  rashes,  O! 
The  sweetest  hours  that  e'er  I  spend 

Are  spent  amang  the  lassies,  O. 

The  war'ly  race  may  riches  chase, 
An'  riches  still  may  fly  them,  O; 

An'  tho'  at  last  they  catch  them  fast, 
Their  hearts  can  ne'er  enjoy  them,  O. 


DOWN  THE  BURN,    DAVIE 

But  gi'e  me  a  canny  hour  at  e'en, 
My  arms  about  my  dearie,  O; 

An'  war'ly  cares,  an'  war'ly  men, 
May  a'  gae  tapsalteerie,  O. 

For  you  sae  douce,  ye  sneer  at  this, 
Ye're  nought  but  senseless  asses,  O; 

The  wisest  man  the  warl'  e'er  saw, 
He  dearly  loved  the  lassies,  O. 

Auld  Nature  swears,  the  lovely  dears, 
Her  noblest  work  she  classes,  O; 

Her  'prentice  han'  she  tried  on  man, 
An'  then  she  made  the  lasses,  O. 


Ill 

DOWN  THE  BURN,  DAVIE 
(ROBERT  CRAWFORD) 

WHEN  trees  did  bud,  and  fields  were  green, 

And  broom  bloom'd  fair  to  see; 
When  Mary  was  complete  fifteen, 

And  love  laughed  in  her  e'e; 
Blythe  Davie's  blinks  her  heart  did  move 

To  speak  her  mind  thus  free; 
Gang  down  the  burn,  Davie,  love, 

And  I  will  follow  thee. 
3 


DARK  LOWERS  THE  NIGHT 

Now  Davie  did  each  lad  surpass 

That  dwelt  on  this  burnside; 
And  Mary  was  the  bonniest  lass, 

Just  meet  to  be  a  bride. 
Her  cheeks  were  rosie,  red  and  white; 

Her  een  were  bonnie  blue; 
Her  looks  were  like  Aurora  bright, 

Her  lips  like  dropping  dew. 

As  down  the  burn  they  took  their  way, 

And  through  the  flow'ry  dale; 
His  cheek  to  hers  he  aft  did  lay, 
And  love  was  aye  the  tale. 
With,  Mary,  when  shall  we  return, 

Sic  pleasure  to  renew? 
Quoth  Mary,  Love,  I  like  the  burn, 
And  aye  will  follow  you. 


IV 

DARK   LOWERS  THE   NIGHT 
(ALEXANDER  WILSON) 

DARK  lowers  the  night  o'er  the  wide  stormy 

main, 

Till  mild  rosy  morning  rise  cheerful  again; 
Alas!  morn  returns  to  revisit  the  shore; 
But  Connel  returns  to  his  Flora  no  more. 
4 


MY  HEART'S  IN  THE  HIGHLANDS 

For  see,  on  yon  mountain,  the  dark  cloud  of 

death, 
O'er  Connel's  lone  cottage,  lies  low  on  the 

heath ; 
While    bloody    and    pale,    on    a  far  distant 

shore, 
He  lies,  to  return  to  his  Flora  no  more. 

Ye  light  fleeting  spirits  that  glide  o'er  the 

steep, 
Oh,  would  you  but  waft  me  across  the  wild 

deep! 
There  fearless  I'd  mix  in  the  battle's  loud 

roar, 
I'd  die  with  my  Connel,   and  leave  him  no 

more. 


V 

MY   HEART'S   IN   THE   HIGHLANDS 
(ROBERT  BURNS) 

MY  heart's  in  the    Highlands,  my  heart   is 

not  here; 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  a-chasing  the 

deer; 
Chasing   the   wild  deer,   and   following  the 

roe — 

My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  wherever  I  go. 
5 


MY   HEART'S  IN  THE  HIGHLANDS 

Farewell  to  the  Highlands,  farewell  to  the 

North, 
The    birthplace    of  valor,    the    country    of 

worth; 

Wherever  I  wander,  wherever  I  rove, 
The  hills  of  the  Highlands  for  ever  I  love. 

Farewell  to  the  mountains  high  covered  with 

snow; 
Farewell    to  the  straths  and  green  valleys 

below ; 
Farewell    to    the  forests  and  wild  hanging 

woods ; 
Farewell  to  the  torrents  and  loud-pouring 

floods. 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart   is 

not  here; 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  a-chasing  the 

deer; 
Chasing   the    wild    deer,   and  following  the 

roe — 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  wherever  I  go. 


WHERE  SHALL  THE  LOVER  REST? 


VI 

WHERE  SHALL  THE  LOVER  REST? 

(SIR    WALTER    SGOTT,    BART.) 


WHERE  shall  the  lover  rest, 

Whom  the  fates  sever, 
From  his  true  maiden's  breast, 

Parted  for  ever? 
Where,  through  groves  deep  and  high, 

Sounds  the  far  billow; 
Where  early  violets  die, 

Under  the  willow. 
Eleu  loro. 

Soft  shall  be  his  pillow. 

There  through  the  summer  day, 

Cool  streams  are  laving; 
There  where  the  tempests  swa}-, 

Scarce  are  boughs  waving; 
There  thy  rest  shalt  thou  take, 

Parted  for  ever, 
Never  again  to  wake, 

Never,  O  never, 
Eleu  loro. 

Never,  O  never. 

7 


WHERE  SHALL  THE  LOVER   REST? 

Where  shall  the  traitor  rest, 

He  the  deceiver, 
Who  could  win  maiden's  breast, 

Ruin,  and  leave  her? 
In  the  lost  battle, 

Borne  down  by  the  flying, 
Where  mingles  war's  rattle 

With  groans  of  the  dying, 
Eleu  loro. 

There  shall  he  be  lying. 

Her  wing  shall  the  eagle  flap 

O'er  the  false-hearted; 
His  warm  blood  the  wolf  shall  lap, 

E'er  life  be  parted; 
Shame  and  dishonor  sit 

By  his  grave  ever; 
Blessing  shall  hallow  it — 

Never,  O  never, 
Eleu  loro. 

Never,  O  never. 


HIGHLAND  MARY 

VII 

HIGHLAND   MARY 
(ROBERT  BURNS) 

YE  banks,  and  braes,  and  streams  around 

The  castle  o'  Montgomery, 
Green  be  your  woods  and  fair  your  flowers, 

Your  waters  never  drumlie! 
There  simmer  first  unfauld  her  robes, 

An'  there  the  langest  tarry; 
For  there  I  took  the  last  fareweel 

O'  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

How  sweetly  bloom' d  the  gay  green  birk, 

How  rich  the  hawthorn's  blossom, 
As  underneath  their  fragrant  shade, 

I  clasp'd  her  to  my  bosom! 
The  golden  hours  on  angel  wings, 

Flew  o'er  me  and  my  dearie; 
For  dear  to  me  as  light  and  life 

Was  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

Wi'  mony  a  vow,  and  lock'd  embrace, 

Our  parting  was  fu'  tender; 
And  pledging  aft  to  meet  again, 

We  tore  oursel's  asunder; 
9 


JESSIE,  THE  FLOWER  O'  DUNBLANE 

But,  oh!  fell  Death'  untimely  frost, 
That  nipt  my  flower  sae  early! 

Now  green's  the  sod,  and  cauld's  the  clay, 
That  wraps  my  Highland  Mary! 

Oh,  pale,  pale  now  those  rosy  lips, 

I  aft  ha'e  kissed  sae  fondly! 
An'  clos'd  for  aye  the  sparkling  glance 

That  dwelt  on  me  sae  kindly; 
And  mouldering  now  in  silent  dust 

That  heart  that  lov'd  me  dearly! 
But  still  within  my  bosom's  core 

Shall  live  my  Highland  Mary. 


VIII 

JESSIE,  THE   FLOWER  O'  DUNBLANE 

(ROBERT  TANNAHILL) 

THE  sun  has  gone  down  o'er  the  lofty  Ben 

Lomond 
And  left  the  red  clouds  to  preside  o'er  the 

scene, 
While   lanely    I    stray   in  the  calm  summer 

gloamin' 

To  muse  on  sweet  Jessie,  the   flower   of 
Dunblane. 

10 


JESSIE,    THE  FLOWER  O'  DUNBLANE 

How  sweet  is  the  brier,  wi'  its  saft  fauld- 

ing  blossom, 
And  sweet  is  the  birk,   wi'  its  mantle  o' 

green; 
Yet   sweeter    and    fairer,   and    dear  to   this 

bosom, 

Is  lovely  young  Jessie,  the  flower  o'  Dun- 
blane. 

She's   modest    as    ony    and  blythe  as  she's 

bonny ; 
For    guileless     simplicity    marks    her    its 

ain; 

And  far  be  the  villain,  divested  of  feeling, 
Wha'd  blight,  in  its  bloom,  the  sweet  flow- 
er o'  Dunblane. 
Sing  on,  thou  sweet  mavis,  thy  hymn  to  the 

e'ening, 
Thou'rt  dear  to  the  echoes  of  Calderwood 

glen; 

Sae  dear  to  this  bosom,  sae  artless  and  win- 
ning, 

Is   charming   young  Jessie,  the  flower  o' 
Dunblane. 

How  lost  were  my  days  till  I  met  wi'  my 

Jessie, 

The  sports  o'  the  city  seem'd  foolish  and 
vain; 

11 


ROBIN   ADAIR 

I  ne'er  saw  a  nymph  I  would  ca'  my  dear 

lassie, 
Till  charm'd  with  sweet  Jessie,  the  flower 

o'  Dunblane. 
Though   mine    were    the    station  o'  loftiest 

grandeur, 

Amidst  its  profusion  I'd  languish  in  pain; 
And  reckon  as  naething  the    height    o'    its 

splendor, 

If  wanting  sweet  Jessie,  the  flower  o'  Dun- 
blane. 


ART  thou  for  ever  gane, 

Robin  Adair? 

While  I  am  left  alane, 

Robin  Adair. 

Can  I  believe  thou  art 

Torn  from  my  aching  heart; 

How  can  I  bide  the  smart, 
Robin  Adair? 

Still  is  thy  bosom  now, 

Robin  Adair; 

Cauld  is  thy  manly  brow, 
Robin  Adair. 
12 


ANNIE  LAURIE 

Wintry  this  world  to  me, 
Pleasure  it  canna  gie — 
I  am  bereft  o'  thee, 

Robin  Adair. 

But  true  love  canna  dee, 

Robin  Adair; 
Sweet  thocht  to  comfort  me, 

Robin  Adair. 

Soon  shall  we  meet  again, 
Where  joys  that  never  wane, 
Shall  banish  ilka  pain, 

Robin  Adair. 


V 


ANNIE   LAURIE 
(MR.  DOUGLAS) 

MAXWELTON  banks  are  bonnie, 

Where  early  fa's  the  dew; 
Where  me  and  Annie  Laurie 

Made  up  the  promise  true; 
Made  up  the  promise  true, 

And  never  forget  will  I; 
And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 

I'll  lay  me  down  and  die. 
13 


MY  WIFE'S  A  WINSOME  WEE  THING 

She's  backit  like  the  peacock, 

She's  breistit  like  the  swan, 
She's  jimp  about  the  middle, 

Her  waist  ye  weel  micht  span, 
Her  waist  ye  weel  micht  span, 

And  she  has  a  rolling  eye; 
And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 

I'll  lay  me  down  and  die. 


XI 

MY   WIFE'S    A    WINSOME    WEE    THING 

(ROBERT  JAMIESON) 

MY  wife's  a  winsome  wee  thing, 
A  bonnie,  blythesome  wee  thing, 
My  dear,  my  constant  wee  thing, 

And  evermair  sail  be; 
It  warms  my  heart  to  view  her, 
I  canna  choose  but  lo'e  her, 
And  oh!  weel  may  I  trow  her 

How  dearly  she  loe's  me! 

For  though  her  face  sae  fair  be, 
As  none  could  evermair  be; 
And  though  her  wit  sae  rare  be, 
As  seenil  do  we  see; 
14 


MY  WIFE'S  A  WINSOME   WEE  THING 

Her  beauty  ne'er  had  gain'd  me, 
Her  wit  had  ne'er  enchain'd  me, 
Nor  baith  sae  lang  retained  me, 
But  for  her  love  to  me. 

When  wealth  and  pride  disown' d  me, 
A'  views  were  dark  around  me, 
And  sad  and  laigh  she  found  me, 

As  friendless  worth  could  be; 
When  ither  hope  gaed  frae  me, 
Her  pity  kind  did  stay  me, 
And  love  for  love  she  ga'e  me; 

And  that's  the  love  for  me. 

And,  till  this  heart  is  cauld,  I 
That  charm  of  life  will  hald  by ; 
And,  though  my  wife  grow  auld,  my 

Leal  love  aye  young  will  be; 
For  she's  my  winsome  wee  thing, 
My  canty  blythesome  wee  thing, 
My  tender,  constant  wee  thing, 

And  evermair  sail  be. 


15 


THE  BLACK-EED  LASSIE 


XII 
THE   BLACK-EED   LASSIE 

(CAPT.    CHARLES    GRAY) 

Wi'  heart  sincere  I  love  thee,  Bell, 

But  dinna  ye  be  saucy,  O ! 
Or  a'  my  love  I  winna  tell 

To  thee,  my  black-eed  lassie,  O! 
It's  no  thy  cheek  o'  rosy  hue, 

It's  no  thy  cherry  mou'; 
It's  a'  because  thy  heart's  sae  true, 

My  bonnie  black-eed  lassie,  O. 

It's  no  the  witch-glance  o'  thy  e'e, 

Though  few  for  that  surpass  ye,  O ! 
That  makes  ye  aye  sae  dear  to  me, 

My  bonnie  black-eed  lassie,  O! 
It's  no  the  whiteness  o'  thy  skin, 

It's  no  love's  dimple  on  thy  chin; 
It's  a'  thy  modest  worth  within, 

My  bonnie  black-eed  lassie,  O! 

Ye  smile  sae  sweet,  ye  look  sae  kind, 
That  a'  wish  to  caress  ye,  O! 

But  O !  how  I  admire  thy  mind, 
My  bonnie  black-eed  lassie,  O! 
16 


JOHN  ANDERSON,   MY  JO,  JOHN 

I've  seen  thy  een  like  crystal  clear, 
Shine  dimly  through  soft  pity's  tear; 

These  are  the  charms  that  mak  thee  dear 
To  me,  my  black-eed  lassie,  O! 


XIII 

JOHN   ANDERSON,    MY    JO,    JOHN 
(ROBERT  BURNS) 

JOHN  Anderson,  my  jo,  John, 

When  we  were  first  acquent, 
Your  locks  were  like  the  raven, 

Your  bonnie  brow  was  brent; 
But  now  your  brow  is  beld,  John, 

Your  locks  are  like  the  snaw; 
But  blessings  on  your  frosty  pow, 

John  Anderson,  my  jo. 

John  Anderson,  my  jo,  John, 

We  clamb  the  hill  thegither, 
An'  mony  a  canty  day,  John, 

We've  had  wi'  ane  anither; 
Now  we  maun  totter  down,  John, 

But  hand  in  hand  we'll  go, 
An'  sleep  thegither  at  the  foot, 

John  Anderson,  my  jo. 
2  17 


FLOW   GENTLY,  SWEET  AFTON 

XIV 

FLOW   GENTLY,    SWEET   AFTON 
(ROBERT  BURNS) 

FLOW  gently,  sweet  Afton,  among  thy  green 

braes, 
Flow   gently,    I'll  sing  thee  a  song  in  thy 

praise ; 

My  Mary's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring  stream, 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,   disturb  not  her 

dream. 

• 

Thou  stock-dove  whose  echo  resounds  thro' 

the  glen, 
Ye  wild  whistling  blackbirds  in  yon  thorny 

den, 
Thou  green-crested  lapwing,  thy  screaming 

forbear, 
I  charge    you    disturb    not    my    slumbering 

fair. 

How  lofty,    sweet    Afton,    thy   neighboring 

hills, 
Far  mark'd  with  the  courses  of  clear  winding 

rills; 

There  daily  I  wander  as  noon  rises  high, 
My  flocks  and  my  Mary's  sweet  cot  in  my 

eye. 

18 


COME  UNDER  MY  PLAIDIE 

How  pleasant  thy  banks  and  green  valleys 

below, 
Where  wild  in  the  woodlands  the  primroses 

blow; 

There  oft  as  mild  evenings  weeps  over  the  lea, 
The  sweet-scented  birk  shades  my  Mary  and 

me. 


XV 

COME   UNDER   MY   PLAIDIE 
(HECTOR  MACNEILL) 

COME  under  my  plaidie ;  the  night's  gaun  to 

fa'; 
Come  in  frae  the  cauld  blast,  the  drift,   and 

the  snaw ; 
Come  under  my  plaidie,  and  sit  down  beside 

me, 
There's  room  in't,  dear  lassie,  believe  me,  for 

twa. 
Come  under  my  plaidie,  and  sit  down  beside 

me; 
I'll  hap  ye  frae  every  cauld  blast  that  can 

blaw : 
Come  under  my  plaidie,  and  sit  down  beside 

me, 
There's  room  in't,  dear  lassie,  believe  me,  for 

twa. 

19 


COME  UNDER  MY  PLAIDIE 

Gae  'wa  wi'  your  plaidie!  auld  Donald,  gae 

'wa, 
I  fear  na  the  cauld  blast,  the  drift,   nor  the 

snaw! 

Gae  'wa  wi'  your  plaidie !  I'll  no  sit  beside  ye ; 
Ye  micht  be  my  gutcher!   auld  Donald,  gae 

'wa. 
I'm  gaun  to  meet  Johnnie — he's  young  and 

he's  bonnie; 
He's  been  at  Meg's  bridal,  fu'  trig  and  fu' 

braw! 
Nane    dances    sae   lichtly,    sae   gracefu',    or 

tichtly, 
His  cheek's  like  the  new  rose,  his  brow's  like 

the  snaw! 

Dear  Marion,  let  that  flee  stick  fast  to  the 

wa' ; 
Your  Jock's  but  a  gowk,  and  has  naething 

ava; 

The  haill  o'  his  pack  he  has  now  on  his  back ; 
He's  thretty,  and  I  am  but  threescore  and 

twa. 
Be  frank  now  and  kindly — I'll  busk  ye  aye 

finely ; 
To  kirk  or  to  market  there'll  few  gang  sae 

braw; 

A  bein  house  to  bide  in,  a  chaise  for  to  ride  in, 
And  flunkies  to  'tend  ye  as  aft  as  ye  ca'. 
20 


COME  UNDER.  MY  PLAIDIE 

My  father  aye  tauld  me,  my  mother  and  a', 
Ye'd  mak'  a  gude  husband,  and  keep  me  aye 

braw; 
It's  true,  I  lo'e  Johnnie ;  he's  young  and  he's 

bonnie ; 

But,  wae's  me!  I  ken  he  has  naething  ava! 
I  ha'e  little  tocher;  ye've  made  a  gude  offer; 
I'm  now  mair  than  twenty ;  my  time  is  but 

sma' ! 
Sae  gi'e  me  your  plaidie;  I'll  creep  in  beside 

ye; 
I    thocht   ye'd  been  aulder  than  threescore 

and  twa! 


She  crap  in  ayont  him,  beside  the  stane  wa', 
Where  Johnnie  was  list'nin',  and  heard  her 

tell  a': 
The  day  was  appointed ! — his  proud  heart  it 

dunted, 
And  strack  'gainst  his  side,  as  if  burstin'  in 

twa. 
He  wander 'd  hame  wearie,  the  nicht  it  was 

drearie, 
And,  thowless,   he  tint  his  gate  'mang  the 

deep  snaw: 
The    howlet  was  screaming,   while  Johnnie 

cried,  Women 
Wad  marry  auld  Nick,  if  he'd  keep  them  aye 

braw. 

21 


THE  LASS  OF  BRANKSOME 

O,  the  deil's  in  the  lasses!  they  gang  now 

sae  braw, 
They'll  lie  down  wi'   auld  men  o'  fourscore 

and  twa: 
The  haill  o'  their  marriage  is  gowd  and  a 

carriage ; 
Plain  love  is  the  cauldest  blast  now   that 

can  blaw. 
Auld  dotards,  be  wary!  tak'  tent  wha  you 

marry ; 
Young  wives,  wi'  their  coaches,  they'll  whip 

and  they'll  ca', 
Till   they    meet    with   some    Johnnie  that's 

youthfu'  and  bonnie, 
And    they'll   gi'e  ye  horns  on  ilk  haffet  to 

claw. 

XVI 

THE   LASS   OF   BRANKSOME 
(ALLAN  RAMSAY) 

As  I  came  in  by  Teviot  side, 

And  by  the  braes  of  Branksome, 
There  first  I  saw  my  bonnie  bride, 

Young,  smiling,  sweet,  and  handsome; 
Her  skin  was  softer  than  the  down, 

And  white  as  alabaster; 
Her  hair  a  shining  wavy  brown; 

In  straightness  nane  surpast  her. 
22 


THE  LASS  OF  BRANKSOME 

Life  glow'd  upon  her  lip  and  cheek, 

Her  clear  een  were  surprising, 
And  beautifully  turn'd  her  neck, 

Her  little  breasts  just  rising; 
Nae  silken  hose  with  gushets  line, 

Or  shoon  with  glancing  laces, 
On  her  fair  leg  forbad  to  shine, 

Well  shapen  native  graces. 

Ae  little  coat,  and  bodice  white, 

Was  sum  o'  a'  her  claithing; — 
Even  these  o'er  mickle — mair  delyte 

She'd  given  cled  wi'  naething. 
She  lean'd  upon  a  flow'ry  brae, 

By  which  a  burnie  trotted; 
On  her  I  glowr'd  my  saul  away, 

While  on  her  sweets  I  doated. 

A  thousand  beauties  of  desert 

Before  had  scarce  alarm' d  me, 
Till  this  dear  artless  struck  my  heart, 

And  but  designing,  charm' d  me. 
Hurried  by  love,  close  to  my  breast 

I  grasp'd  this  fund  of  blisses ; 
Wha  smil'd,  and  said,  "Without  a  priest, 

Sir,  hope  for  nought  but  kisses." 

I  had  nae  heart  to  do  her  harm, 
And  yet  I  couldna  want  her; 

What  she  demanded,  ilka  charm 
Of  hers  pled,  I  should  grant  her. 
23 


ROSLIN  CASTLE 


Since  heaven  had  dealt  to  me  a  routh, 
Straight  to  the  kirk  I  led  her, 

There  plighted  her  my  faith  and  troth, 
And  a  young  lady  made  her. 


XVII 

ROSLIN   CASTLE 
(RICHARD  HEWITT) 

'TWAS  in  that  season  of  the  year, 
When  all  things  gay  and  sweet  appear, 
That  Colin  with  the  morning  ray, 
Arose  and  sung  his  rural  lay. 
Of  Nanny's  charms  the  shepherd  sung, 
The  hills  and  dales  with  Nanny  rung, 
While  Roslin  Castle  heard  the  swain, 
And  echoed  back  the  cheerful  strain. 

Awake  sweet  muse!  the  breathing  spring 
With  rapture  warms;  awake  and  sing! 
Awake  and  join  the  vocal  throng, 
Who  hail  the  morning  with  a  song. 
To  Nanny  raise  the  cheerful  lay, 
O!  bid  her  haste  and  come  away, 
In  sweeter  smiles  herself  adorn, 
And  add  new  graces  to  the  morn. 
24 


ROSLIN  CASTLE 

O  hark,  my  love,  on  ev'ry  spray 
Each  feather 'd  warbler  tunes  his  lay: 
'Tis  beauty  fires  the  ravish' d  throng, 
And  love  inspires  the  melting  song. 
Then  let  my  raptur'd  notes  arise, 
For  beauty  darts  from  Nanny's  eyes, 
And  love  my  rising  bosom  warms, 
And  fills  my  soul  with  sweet  alarms. 

O  come,  my  love!  thy  Colin's  lay, 
With  rapture  calls,  O  come  away, 
Come  while  the  muse  this  wreath  shah1 

twine 

Around  that  modest  brow  of  thine. 
O  hither  haste,  and  with  thee  bring 
That  beauty  blooming  like  the  spring, 
Those  graces  that  divinely  shine 
And  charm  this  ravish' d  breast  of  mine ! 


25 


O  GIN  MY  LOVE  WERE  YON   RED  ROSE 


XVIII 

O  GIN  MY  LOVE  WERE  YON  RED 
ROSE 

(From  Herd's  MS.) 


O  my  love's  bonnie,  bonnie,  bonnie; 

My  love's  bonnie  and  fair  to  see: 
Whene'er  I  look  on  her  well-far 'd  face, 

She  looks  and  smiles  again  to  me. 

O  gin  my  love  were  a  pickle  of  wheat, 
And  growing  upon  yon  lily  lee, 

And  I  mysel'  a  bonnie  wee  bird, 
Awa'  wi'  that  pickle  o'  wheat  I  wad  flee. 

O  my  love's  bonnie,  &c. 

0  gin  my  love  were  a  coffer  o'  gowd, 
And  I  the  keeper  of  the  key, 

1  wad  open  the  kist  whene'er  I  list, 
And  in  that  coffer  I  wad  be. 

O  my  love's  bonnie,  &c. 
26 


GIN  YE  MEET  A  BONNIE  LASSIE 

XIX 

GIN   YE   MEET   A    BONNIE   LASSIE 
(ALLAN  RAMSAY) 

GIN  ye  meet  a  bonnie  lassie, 

Gi'e  her  a  kiss  and  let  her  gae; 
But  if  ye  meet  a  dirty  hizzie, 

Fye,  gar  rub  her  ower  wi'  strae. 
Be  sure  ye  dinna  quit  the  grip 

Of  ilka  joy  when  ye  are  young, 
Before  auld  age  your  vitals  nip, 

And  lay  ye  twa-fauld  ower  a  rung. 

Sweet    youth's    a   blythe    and    heartsome 
time: 

Then,  lads  and  lasses,  while  it's  May, 
Gae  pou  the  gowan  in  its  prime, 

Before  it  wither  and  decay. 
Watch  the  saft  minutes  o'  delight, 

When  Jenny  speaks  beneath  her  breath, 
And  kisses,  layin'  a'  the  wyte 

On  you  if  she  kep  ony  skaith. 

Haith,  ye're  ill-bred,  she'll  smilin'  say, 
Ye'll  worry  me,  ye  greedy  rook; 

Syne  frae  your  arms  she'll  rin  away, 
And  hide  hersel'  in  some  dark  neuk. 
27 


LOCHABER  NO  MORE 

Her  lauch  will  lead  ye  to  the  place, 
Where  lies  the  happiness  ye  want; 

And  plainly  tell  ye  to  your  face, 
Nineteen  nay-says  are  hauf  a  grant. 

Now  to  her  heavin'  bosom  cling, 

And  sweitly  tuilyie  for  a  kiss; 
Frae  her  fair  finger  whup  a  ring, 

As  taiken  o'  a  future  bliss. 
These  benisons,  I'm  very  sure, 

Are  of  kind  heaven's  indulgent  grant ; 
Then,  surly  carles,  wheesht,  forbear 

To  plague  us  wi'  your  whinin'  cant! 


XX 

LOCHABER   NO   MORE 
(ALLAN  RAMSAY) 

FAREWELL,  to  Lochaber,  farewell  to  my  Jean, 
Where  heartsome  wi'  thee  I  ha'e  mony  a  day 

been; 

To  Lochaber  no  more,  to  Lochaber  no  more, 
We'll  maybe  return  to  Lochaber  no  more. 
These  tears  that  I  shed,  they're  a'  for  my  dear, 
And  no  for  the  dangers  attending  on  war, 
Though  borne  on  rough  seas  to  a  far  bloody 

shore, 

Maybe  to  return  to  Lochaber  no  more. 
28 


LOCHABER  NO  MORE 

Though  hurricanes  rise,  though   rise   every 

wind, 

No  tempest  can  equal  the  storm  in  my  mind ; 
Though  loudest  of  thunders  on  louder  waves 

roar, 
There's  naething  like  leavin'  my  love  on  the 

shore. 
To  leave  thee  behind  me  my  heart  is  sair 

pain'd ; 
But  by  ease  that's  inglorious  no  fame  can  be 

gain'd: 
And  beauty  and  love's  the  reward    of  the 

brave ; . 
And  I  maun  deserve  it  before  I  can  crave. 

Then   glory,    my    Jeanie,    maun    plead    my 

excuse ; 

Since  honor  commands  me,  how  can  I  refuse? 
Without  it,  I  ne'er  can  have  merit  for  thee; 
And  losing  thy  favor  I'd  better  not  be. 
I  gae  then,  my  lass,  to  win  honor  and  fame ; 
And   if  I    should   chance   to  come  glorious 

hame, 
I'll  bring  a  heart  to  thee  with  love  running 

o'er, 
And  then  I'll  leave  thee  and  Lochaber   no 

more. 


29 


HAP  ME  Wl'  THY   PETTICOAT 

XXI 

HAP   ME   VVF    THY    PETTICOAT 

(ALLAN  RAMSAY) 

0  BELL,  thy  looks  ha'e  kill'd  my  heart, 
I  pass  the  day  in  pain; 

When  night  returns,  I  feel  the  smart, 
And  wish  for  thee  in  vain. 

I'm  starving  cold,  while  thou  art  warm; 
Have  pity  and  incline, 

And  grant  me  for  a  hap  that  charm- 
ing petticoat  of  thine. 

My  ravish' d  fancy  in  amaze 

Still  wanders  o'er  thy  charms, 
Delusive  dreams  ten  thousand  ways 

Present  thee  to  my  arms. 
But  waking,  think  what  I  endure, 

While  cruel  thou  decline 
Those  pleasures,  which  alone  can  cure 

This  panting  breast  of  mine. 

1  faint,  I  fall,  and  wildly  rove, 
Because  you  still  deny 

The  just  reward  that's  due  to  love, 
And  let  true  passion  die. 
30 


MARY  MORISON 

Oh!  turn,  and  let  compassion  seize 

That  lovely  breast  of  thine ; 
Thy  petticoat  could  give  me  ease, 

If  thou  and  it  were  mine. 

Sure  heaven  has  fitted  for  delight 

That  beauteous  form  of  thine, 
And  thou'rt  too  good  its  law  to  slight, 

By  hind 'ring  the  design. 
May  all  the  powers  of  love  agree 

At  length  to  make  thee  mine; 
Or  loose  my  chains  and  set  me  free 

From  every  charm  of  thine. 


XXII 

MARY    MORISON 
(ROBERT  BURNS) 

OH,  Mary,  at  thy  window  be, 

It  is  the  wish'd,  the  trysted  hour! 
Those  smiles  and  glances  let  me  see, 

That  make  the  miser's  treasure  poor; 
How  blithely  wad  I  bide  the  stoure, 

A  weary  slave  frae  sun  to  sun, 
Could  I  the  rich  reward  secure, 

The  lovely  Mary  Morison. 
31 


HELEN   OF  KIRKCONNEL 

Yestreen  when  to  the  trembling  string, 

The  dance  gaed  thro'  the  lighted  ha', 
To  thee  my  fancy  took  its  wing, 

I  sat,  but  neither  heard  nor  saw. 
Tho'  this  was  fair,  an'  that  was  braw, 

An'  yon  the  toast  of  a'  the  town, 
I  sigh'd,  an'  said  amang  them  a', 

"Ye  are  na  Mary  Morison." 

Oh,  Mary,  canst  thou  wreck  his  peace, 

Wha  for  thy  sake  wad  gladly  die? 
Or  canst  thou  break  that  heart  of  his, 

Whase  only  faut  is  loving  thee? 
If  love  for  love  thou  wilt  nae  gie, 

At  least  be  pity  on  me  shown; 
A  thought  ungentle  canna  be 

The  thought  o'  Mary  Morison. 


XXIII 

HELEN   OF   KIRKCONNEL 
(JOHN  MAYNE) 

I  WISH  I  were  where  Helen  lies, 
For  night  and  day  on  me  she  cries, 
And  like  an  angel  to  the  skies 
Still  seems  to  beckon  me! 

32 


HELEN  OF  KIRKCONNEL 

For  me  she  lived,  for  me  she  sigh'd, 
For  me  she  wished  to  be  a  bride; 
For  me  in  Life's  sweet  morn  she  died 
On  fair  Kirkconnel-Lee ! 


Where  Kirtle  waters  gently  wind, 
As  Helen  on  my  arm  reclined, 
A  rival  with  a  ruthless  mind 

Took  deadly  aim  at  me; 
My  love,  to  disappoint  the  foe, 
Rushed  in  between  me  and  the  blow; 
And  now  her  corse  is  lying  low 

On  fair  Kirkconnel-Lee ! 

Though   heaven  forbids   my   wrath    to 

swell, 

I  curse  the  hand  by  which  she  fell — 
The  fiend  who  made  my  heaven  a  hell, 

And  tore  my  love  from  me; 
For  if,  where  all  the  graces  shine — 
Oh,  if  on  earth  there's  aught  divine, 
My  Helen!  all  those  charms  were  thine, 

They  centred  all  in  thee! 

Ah,  what  avails  in  that  amain, 
I  clove  the  assassin's  head  in  twain; 
No  peace  of  mind,  my  Helen  slain, 
No  resting-place  for  me; 

3  33 


THE  RANTIN'  HIGHLANDMAN 

I  see  her  spirit  in  the  air — 
I  hear  the  shriek  of  wild  despair, 
When  Murder  laid  her  bosom  bare, 
On  fair  Kirkconnel-Lee ! 

Oh,  when  I'm  sleeping  in  my  grave 
And  o'er  my  head  the  rank  weeds  wave, 
May  He  who  life  and  spirit  gave 

Unite  my  love  and  me! 
Then   from    this    world    of  doubts    and 

sighs, 

My  soul  on  wings  of  peace  shall  rise ; 
And  joining  Helen  in  the  skies, 

Forget  Kirkconnel-Lee. 


XXIV 
THE    RANTIN'    HIGHLANDMAN 

(JOHN  HAMILTON) 

AE  morn,  last  ouk,  as  I  gaed  out 

To  flit  a  tether' d  yowe  and  lamb, 
I  met,  as  skiffing  ower  the  green, 

A  jolly  rantin'  Highlandman. 
His  shape  was  neat,  wi'  feature  sweet, 

And  ilka  smile  my  favor  wan; 
I  ne'er  had  seen  sae  braw  a  lad, 

As  this  young  rantin'  Highlandman. 
34 


THE  RANTIN'  HIGHLANDMAN 

He  said,  My  dear,  ye're  sune  asteer; 

Cam'  ye  to  hear  the  laverock's  sang? 
O,  wad  ye  gang  and  wed  wi'  me, 

And  wed  a  rantin'  Highlandman? 
In  summer  days,  on  flowery  braes, 

When  frisky  is  the  ewe  and  lamb, 
I'se  row  ye  in  my  tartan  plaid, 

And  be  your  rantin'  Highlandman. 

With  heather  bells,  that  sweetly  smells, 

I'll  deck  your  hair  sae  fair  and  lang, 
If  ye'll  consent  to  scour  the  bent 

Wi'  me,  a  rantin'  Highlandman. 
We'll  big  a  cot,  and  buy  a  stock, 

Syne  do  the  best  that  e'er  we  can: 
Then  come,  my  dear,  ye  needna  fear 

To  trust  a  rantin'  Highlandman. 

His  words  sae  sweet  gaed  to  my  heart, 

And  fain  I  wad  ha'e  gien  my  han', 
Yet  durstna,  lest  my  mother  should 

Dislike  a  rantin'  Highlandman. 
But  I  expect  he  will  come  back; 

Then,    though    my    kin'    should    scould 

and  ban, 
I'll  ower  the  hill,  or  where  he  will, 

Wi'  my  young  rantin'  Highlandman. 


35 


WHEN  THE  KYE  COMES  HAME 

XXV 

WHEN  THE   KYE   COMES   HAME 
(JAMES  HOGG) 

COME  all  ye  jolly  shepherds 

That  whistle  through  the  glen, 
I'll  tell  you  of  a  secret 

That  courtiers  dinna  ken. 
What  is  the  greatest  bliss 

That  the  tongue  o'.  man  can  name? 
'Tis  to  woo  a  bonnie  lassie 

When  the  kye  comes  hame. 

When  the  kye  comes  hame, 
When  the  kye  comes  hame, 

'Tween  the  gloamin'  an'  the  mirk, 
When  the  kye  comes  hame. 

'Tis  not  beneath  the  burgonet, 

Nor  yet  beneath  the  crown, 
'Tis  not  on  couch  of  velvet, 

Nor  yet  on  bed  of  down : 
'Tis  beneath  the  spreading  birch, 

In  the  dell  without  a  name, 
Wi'  a  bonnie,  bonnie  lassie, 

When  the  kye  comes  hame. 

When  the  kye  comes  hame,  &c. 
36 


WHEN  THE  KYE  COMES  HAME 

There  the  blackbird  bigs  his  nest 

For  the  mate  he  loves  to  see, 
And  up  upon  the  tapmost  bough, 

Oh,  a  happy  bird  is  he! 
Then  he  pours  his  melting  ditty, 

An'  love  'tis  a*  the  theme, 
And  he'll  woo  his  bonnie  lassie, 

When  the  kye  comes  hame. 

When  the  kye  comes  hame,  &c. 

WThen  the  bluart  bears  a  pearl, 

And  the  daisy  turns  a  pea, 
And  the  bonnie  lucken  gowan 

Has  fauldit  up  his  e'e, 
Then  the  laverock  frae  the  blue  lift 

Draps  down,  and  thinks  nae  shame 
To  woo  his  bonnie  lassie 

When  the  kye  comes  hame. 

When  the  kye  comes  hame,  &c. 

Then  the  eye  shines  sae  bright, 

The  haill  soul  to  beguile, 
There's  love  in  every  whisper, 

And  joy  in  every  smile; 
O,  wha  would  choose  a  crown, 

Wi'  its  perils  and  its  fame, 
And  miss  a  bonnie  lassie 

When  the  kye  comes  hame? 

When  the  kye  comes  hame,  &c. 
37 


LASSIE  WP  THE  LINT-WHITE  LOCKS 

See  yonder  pawky  shepherd 

That  lingers  on  the  hill — 
His  yowes  are  in  the  fauld, 

And  his  lambs  are  lying  still; 
Yet  he  downa  gang  to  rest, 

For  his  heart  is  in  a  flame 
To  meet  his  bonnie  lassie 

When  the  kye  conies  hame. 

When  the  kye  comes  hame,  &c. 

Awa'  wi'  fame  and  fortune — 

What  comfort  can  they  gi'e? 
And  a'  the  arts  that  prey 

On  man's  life  and  libertie! 
Gi'e  me  the  highest  joy 

That  the  heart  o'  man  can  frame, 
My  bonnie,  bonnie  lassie, 

When  the  kye  comes  hame. 


XXVI 

LASSIE   WI'   THE   LINT-WHITE    LOCKS 
(ROBERT  BURNS) 

LASSIE  wi'  the  lint-white  locks, 
Bonnie  lassie,  artless  lassie, 

Wilt  thou  wi'  me  tent  the  flocks, 
Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie,  O? 

38 


LASSIE  Wr  THE  LINT-WHITE  LOCKS 

Now  Nature  deeds  the  flowery  lea, 
An'  a'  is  young  an'  sweet  like  thee: 
Oh,  wilt  thou  share  its  joys  wi'  me, 
An'  say  thou'lt  be  my  dearie,  O? 

An'  when  the  welcome  simmer  shower 
Has  cheer'd  ilk  drooping  little  flower, 
We'll  to  the  breathing  woodbine  bower 
At  sultry  noon,  my  dearie,  O. 

When  Cynthia  lights,  wi'  silver  ray, 
The  weary  shearer's  hameward  way, 
Thro'  yellow  waving  fields  we'll  stray, 
An'  talk  o'  love,  my  dearie,  O. 

An'  when  the  howling  wintry  blast 
Disturbs  my  lassie's  midnight  rest, 
Enclasped  to  my  faithful  breast, 
I'll  comfort  thee,  my  dearie,  O. 


39 


THE  BRAES  OF  BALLENDINE 

XXVII 

THE   BRAES   OF   BALLENDINE 
(DR.  BLACKLOCK) 

BENEATH  a  green  shade,  a  lovely  young 
swain 

Ae  evening  reclined  to  discover  his  pain; 

So  sad,  yet  so  sweetly,  he  warbled  his  woe, 

The  winds  ceased  to  breathe,  and  the  foun- 
tain to  flow; 

Rude  winds  wi'  compassion  could  hear  him 
complain, 

Yet  Chloe,  less  gentle,  was  deaf  to  his  strain. 

How  happy,    he   cried,    my   moments    once 

flew, 
Ere  Chloe's  bright  charms  first  flash'd  in  my 

view! 
Those  eyes  then  wi'  pleasure  the  dawn  could 

survey ; 
Nor    smiled  the  fair  morning  mair  cheerful 

than  they. 

Now  scenes  of  distress  please  only  my  sight ; 
I'm   tortured   in   pleasure,   and  languish  in 

light. 

40 


SWEET  CLOSES  THE   EVENING 

Through  changes  in  vain  relief  I  pursue, 
All,  all  but  conspire  my  griefs  to  renew; 
From  sunshine  to  zephyrs  and  shades  we 

repair — 

To  sunshine  we  fly  from  too  piercing  an  air ; 
But  love's  ardent  fire  burns  always  the  same, 
No  winter  can  cool  it,  no  summer  inflame. 

But  see,  the  pale  moon,  all  clouded,  retires; 

The  breezes  grow  cool,  not  Strephon's  de- 
sires : 

I  fly  from  the  dangers  of  tempest  and  wind, 

Yet  nourish  the  madness  that  preys  on  my 
mind. 

Ah,  wretch!  how  can  life  be  worthy  thy 
care? 

To  lengthen  its  moments,  but  lengthens 
despair. 

XXVIII 

SWEET   CLOSES   THE   EVENING 
(ROBERT  BURNS) 

SWEET  closes  the  eve  on  Craigieburn-wood, 

And  blithely  awaukens  the  morrow; 
But  the  pride  of  the  spring  in  the  Craigie- 
burn-wood 

Can  yield  to  me  nothing  but  sorrow. 
41 


SWEET  CLOSES  THE  EVENING 

Beyond  thee,  dearie,  beyond  thee,  dearie, 
And  oh,  to  be  lying  beyond  thee; 

Oh,  sweetly,  soundly,  weel  may  he  sleep 
That's  laid  in  the  bed  beyond  thee! 

I  see  the  spreading  leaves  and  flowers, 
I  hear  the  wild  birds  singing; 

But  pleasure  they  hae  nane  for  me, 
While  care  my  heart  is  wringing. 

I  canna  tell,  I  maunna  tell, 

I  darena  for  your  anger; 
But  secret  love  will  break  my  heart, 

If  I  conceal  it  langer. 

I  see  thee  gracefu',  straight,  and  tall, 

I  see  thee  sweet  and  bonnie; 
But  oh,  what  will  my  torments  be, 

If  thou  refuse  thy  Johnnie ! 

To  see  thee  in  anither's  arms, 

In  love  to  lie  and  languish, 
'Twad  be  my  death,  that  will  be  seen, 

My  heart  wad  burst  wi'  anguish. 


42 


MY  ONLY  JO  AND   DEARIE,   O 


XXIX 

MY   ONLY   JO   AND   DEARIE,    O 
(RICHARD  GALL) 

THY  cheek  is  o'  the  rose's  hue, 

My  only  jo  and  dearie,  O; 
Thy  neck  is  o'  the  siller  dew 

Upon  the  bank  sae  brierie,  O. 
Thy  teeth  are  o'  the  ivory; 
O  sweet's  the  twinkle  o'  thine  ee: 
Nae  joy,  nae  pleasure  blinks  on  me, 

My  only  jo  and  dearie,  O. 

The  birdie  sings  upon  the  thorn 

Its  sang  o'  joy  fu'  cheerie,  O, 
Rejoicing  in  the  simmer  morn, 
Nae  care  to  mak'  it  eerie,  O ; 
Ah!  little  kens  the  sangster  sweet 
Aught  o'  the  care  I  ha'e  to  meet, 
That  gars  my  restless  bosom  beat, 
My  only  jo  and  dearie,  O. 

When  we  were  bairnies  on  yon  brae, 
And  youth  was  blinkin'  bonnie,  O, 

Aft  we  wad  daff  the  lee-lang  day, 
Our  joys  fu'  sweet  and  monie,  O. 

43 


ETTRICK  BANKS 

Aft  I  wad  chase  thee  o'er  the  lee, 
And  round  about  the  thorny  tree; 
Or  pu'  the  wild  flowers  a'  for  thee, 
My  only  jo  and  dearie,  O. 

0 

I  ha'e  a  wish  I  canna  tine, 

'Mang  a'  the  cares  that  grieve  me,  O, 
A  wish  that  thou  wert  ever  mine, 

And  never  mair  to  leave  me,  O; 
Then  I  would  dawt  thee  night  and  day, 
Nae  it  her  warldly  care  I'd  ha'e, 
Till  life's  warm  stream  forgat  to  play, 

My  only  jo  and  dearie,  O. 


XXX 

ETTRICK   BANKS 

(ANONYMOUS) 

ON  Ettrick  banks,  ae  simmer's  night, 

At  gloamin',  when  the  sheep  drave  hame, 
I  met  my  lassie,  braw  and  tight, 

Come  wading  barefoot  a'  her  lane. 
My  heart  grew  light; — I  ran,  I  flang 

My  arms  about  her  lily  neck, 
And  kiss'd  and  clapp'd  her  there  fu'  lang, 

My  words  they  were  na  monie  feck. 
44 


ETTRICK  BANKS 

I  said,  My  lassie,  will  ye  gang 

To  the  Highland  hills,  the  Erse  to  learn? 
I'll  gi'e  thee  baith  a  cow  and  ewe, 

When  ye  come  to  the  brig  o'  Earn: 
At  Leith  auld  meal  comes  in,  ne'er  fash, 

And  herrings  at  the  Broomielaw; 
Cheer  up  your  heart,  my  bonnie  lass, 

There's  gear  to  win  ye  never  saw. 

A*  day  when  we  ha'e  wrought  eneugh, 

When  winter  frosts  and  snaw  begin, 
Soon  as  the  sun  gaes  west  the  loch, 

At  night  when  ye  sit  down  to  spin, 
I'll  screw  my  pipes,  and  play  a  spring: 

And  thus  the  weary  night  will  end, 
Till  the  tender  kid  and  lamb-time  bring 

Our  pleasant  simmer  back  again. 

Syne,  when  the  trees  are  in  their  bloom, 

And  go  wans  glent  o'er  ilka  fieP, 
I'll  meet  my  lass  amang  the  broom, 

And  lead  you  to  my  simmer  shiel. 
Then,  far  frae  a'  their  scornfu'  din, 

That  mak'  the  kindly  heart  their  sport, 
We'll  laugh,  and  kiss,  and  dance,   and  sing, 

And  gar  the  langest  day  seem  short. 


45 


SAE  MERRY  AS  WE  TWA  HA'E  BEEN 

XXXI 

SAE   MERRY   AS   WE   TWA    HA'E   BEEN 
(ANONYMOUS) 

A  LASS  that  was  laden' d  with  care, 

Sat  heavily  under  yon  thorn; 
I  listen' d  a  while  for  to  hear, 

When  thus  she  began  for  to  mourn. 
Whene'er  my  dear  shepherd  was  there, 

The  birds  did  melodiously  sing, 
And  cold  nipping  winter  did  wear 

A  face  that  resembled  the  spring. 

Sae  merry  as  we  twa  ha'e  been, 
Sae  merry  as  we  twa  ha'e  been, 

My  heart  it  is  like  for  to  break 
When  I  think  on  the  days  we  ha'e  seen. 

Our  flocks  feeding  close  by  his  side, 

He  gently  pressing  my  hand, 
I  view'd  the  wide  world  in  its  pride, 

And  laugh'd  at  the  pomp  of  command ! 
My  dear,  he  would  oft  to  me  say, 

What  makes  you  hard-hearted  to  me? 
Oh!  why  do  you  thus  turn  away 

From  him  who  is  dying  for  thee? 
46 


SAW  YE  MY  WEE  THING? 

But  now  he  is  far  from  my  sight, 

Perhaps  a  deceiver  may  prove, 
Which  makes  me  lament  day  and  night, 

That  ever  I  granted  my  love. 
At  eve,  when  the  rest  of  the  folk 

Are  merrily  seated  to  spin, 
I  set  myself  under  an  oak, 

And  heavily  sighed  for  him. 


XXXII 

SAW   YE   MY   WEE   THING? 
(HECTOR  MACNEILL) 

O  SAW  ye  my  wee  thing?    Saw  ye  my  ain 

thing? 

Saw  ye  my  true  love  down  on  yon  lea? 
Cross'd    she    the   meadow   yestreen    at   the 

gloamin'? 

Sought    she   the  burnie  whar  flow'rs  the 
haw  tree? 

Her  hair  it  is  lint- white ;  her  skin  it  is  milk- 
white; 

Dark  is  the  blue  o'  her  saft  rolling  e'e; 
Red,    red    her   ripe   lips,    and    sweeter   then 

roses : — 
Whar  could  my  wee  thing  wander  frae  me? 

47 


SAW  YE  MY  WEE  THING? 

I  saw  na  your  wee  thing,  I  saw  na  your  ain 

thing, 

Nor  saw  I  your  true  love  down  on  yon  lea; 
But   I   met   my    bonnie   thing   late   in    the 

gloamin', 
Down  by  the  burnie  whar  flow'rs  the  haw 

tree. 
Her  hair  it  was  lint- white;  her  skin  it  was 

milk-white ; 

Dark  was  the  blue  o'  her  saft  rolling  e'e; 
Red   were   her   ripe   lips    and  sweeter  than 

roses : 
Sweet  were  the  kisses  that  she  ga'e  to  me. 

It  was  na  my  wee  thing,  it  was  na  my  ain 

thing, 

It  was  na  my  true  love  ye  met  by  the  tree : 

Proud  is  her  leal  heart!  modest  her  nature! 

She  never  lo'ed  onie,  till  ance  she  lo'ed  me. 

Her  name  it  is  Mary ;  she's  frae  Castle-Cary : 

Aft  has  she  sat,    when   a   bairn,    on   my 

knee: — 

Fair  as  your  face  is,  war't  fifty  times  fairer, 
Young  bragger,  she  ne'er  would  gi'e  kisses 
to  thee. 

It  was  then  your  Mary;  she's  frae  Castle- 
Cary; 

It  was  then  your  true  love  I  met  by  the 
tree; 

48 


SAW  YE  MY  WEE  THING? 

Proud    as    her   heart   is,    and    modest    her 

nature, 

Sweet  were  the  kisses  that  she  ga'e  to  me. 
Sair  gloom'd  his  dark  brow,   blood-red  his 

cheek  grew, 
Wild  flash'd    the   fire  frae    his   red-rolling 

e'e!— 
Ye's  rue  sair  this  morning  your  boasts  an' 

your  scorning: 
Defend  ye,  fause  traitor!  fu'  loudly  ye  lie. 

Awa'    wi'    beguiling,    cried  the  youth  smil- 
ing:— 
Aff  went  the  bonnet;  the  lint- white  locks 

flee; 
The   belted   plaid   fa'ing,    her  white  bosom 

shawing, 
Fair  stood  the  lov'd  maid  wi'  the   dark 

rolling  e'e! 
Is  it  my  wee  thing?  is  it  my  ain  thing? 

Is  it  my  true  love  here  that  I  see? 
O  Jamie  forgi'e  me ;  your  heart's  constant  to 

me; 

I'll  never  mair  wander,  dear  laddie,  frae 
thee! 


49 


WHEN   I   UPON  THY  BOSOM  LEAN 

XXXIII 
WHEN   I   UPON   THY   BOSOM  LEAN 

(JOHN  LAPRAIK) 

WHEN  I  upon  thy  bosom  lean, 

And  fondly  clasp  thee  a'  my  ain, 
I  glory  in  the  sacred  ties 

That  made  us  ane,  wha  ance  were  twain. 
A  mutual  flame  inspires  us  baith, 

The  tender  look,  the  meltin'  kiss; 
Even  years  shall  ne'er  destroy  our  love, 

But  only  gi'e  us  change  o'  bliss. 

Ha'e  I  a  wish?  it's  a'  for  thee! 

I  ken  thy  wish  is  me  to  please. 
Our  moments  pass  sae  smooth  away, 

That  numbers  on  us  look  and  gaze; 
Weel  pleased  they  see  our  happy  days, 

Nor  envy's  sel'  finds  aught  to  blame; 
And  aye,  when  weary  cares  arise, 

Thy  bosom  still  shall  be  my  hame. 

I'll  lay  me  there  and  tak'  my  rest; 

And,  if  that  aught  disturb  my  dear, 
I'll  bid  her  laugh  her  cares  away, 

And  beg  her  not  to  drop  a  tear. 
50 


GO  TO   BERWICK,  JOHNNIE 

Ha'e  I  a  joy?  it's  a'  her  ain! 

United  still  her  heart  and  mine; 
They're  like  the  woodbine  round  the  tree, 

That's  twined  till  death  shall  them  disjoin. 


XXXIV 

GO   TO   BERWICK,    JOHNNIE 
(JOHN  HAMILTON) 

Go  to  Berwick,  Johnnie; 

Bring  her  frae  the  Border; 
Yon  sweet  bonnie  lassie, 

Let  her  gae  nae  farther. 
English  loons  will  twine  ye 

O'  the  lovely  treasure; 
But  we'll  let  them  ken 

A  sword  wi'  them  we'll  measure. 

Go  to  Berwick,  Johnnie, 

And  regain  your  honor; 
Drive  them  o'er  the  Tweed, 

And  show  our  Scottish  banner. 
I  am  Rob,  the  King, 

And  ye  are  Jock,  my  brither; 
But,  before  we  lose  her, 

We'll  a'  be  inhere  thegither. 
51 


THE  LASS  O'  COWRIE 

XXXV 

THE   LASS   O'   GOWRIE 
(LADY  NAIRNE) 

'TWAS  on  a  summer's  afternoon, 

A  wee  afore  the  sun  gaed  down, 
A  lassie  wi*  a  braw  new  goun 

Cam'  ower  the  hills  to  Gowrie. 
The  rosebud  wash'd  in  summer's  shower 

Bloom'd  fresh  within  the  sunny  bower; 
But  Kitty  was  the  fairest  flower 

That  e'er  was  seen  in  Gowrie. 

To  see  her  cousin  she  cam'  there, 

And  oh!  the  scene  was  passin'  fair, 
For  what  in  Scotland  can  compare 

Wi'  the  Carse  o'  Gowrie? 
The  sun  was  settin'  on  the  Tay; 

The  blue  hills  meltin'  into  grey, 
The  mavis  and  the  blackbird's  lay 

Were  sweetly  heard  in  Gowrie. 

O  lang  the  lassie  I  had  woo'd, 
An'  truth  an'  constancy  had  vowed, 

But  cam'  nae  speed  wi'  her  I  lo'ed 
Until  she  saw  fair  Gowrie. 

52 


O'ER  THE  MUIR  AMANG  THE  HEATHER 

I  pointed  to  my  faither's  ha', 
Yon  bonnie  bield  ayont  the  shaw, 

Sae  loun'  tHat  there  nae  blast  could  blaw, 
Wad  she  no  bide  in  Gowrie? 

Her  faither  was  baith  glad  and  wae; 

Her  mither  she  wad  naething  say; 
The  bairnies  thocht  they  wad  get  play 

If  Kitty  gaed  to  Gowrie. 
She  whiles  did  smile,  she  whiles  did  greet, 

The  blush  and  tear  were  on  her  cheek; 
She  naething  said,  but  hung  her  head, 

But  now  she's  Leddy  Gowrie. 


XXXVI 

O'ER    THE    MUIR    AMANG    THE 
HEATHER 

(STUART  LEWIS) 

AE  morn  of  May,  when  fields  were  gay, 
Serene  and  charming  was  the  weather, 

I  chanced  to  roam  some  miles  frae  hame, 
Far  o'er  yon  muir  amang  the  heather. 

O'er  the  muir  amang  the  heather, 
O'er  the  muir  amang  the  heather, 
How  healthsome  'tis  to  range  the  muirs, 
And  brush  the  dew  from  vernal  heather. 
53 


O'ER  THE  MU1R  AMANG  THE  HEATHER 

I  walk'd  along,  and  humm'd  a  song, 
My  heart  was  light  as  ony  feather, 

And  soon  did  pass  a  lovely  lass, 
Was  wading  barefoot  through  the  heather. 

O'er  the  muir  amang  the  heather, 
O'er  the  muir  amang  the  heather; 
The  bonniest  lass  that  e'er  I  saw 
I  met  ae  morn  amang  the  heather. 

Her  eyes  divine,  mair  bright  did  shine 
Than  the  most  clear  unclouded  ether; 

A  fairer  form  did  ne'er  adorn 
A  brighter  scene  than  blooming  heather. 

O'er  the  muir  amang  the  heather, 
O'er  the  muir  amang  the  heather; 
There's  ne'er  a  lass  in  Scotia's  isle 
Can  vie  with  her  amang  the  heather. 

I  said,  "Dear  maid,  be  not  afraid; 

Pray  sit  you  down,  let's  talk  together; 
For  oh!  my  fair,  I  vow  and  swear 

You've  stole  my  heart  amang  the  heather." 

O'er  the  muir  amang  the  heather, 
O'er  the  muir  amang  the  heather; 
Ye  swains,  beware  of  yonder  muir, 
You'll    lose     your     hearts     amang    the 
heather. 

54, 


LIZZY  LINDSAY 

She  answered  me,  right  modestly, 
"I  go,  kind  sir,  to  seek  my  father, 

Whose  fleecy  charge  he  tends  at  large, 
On  yon  green  hills  beyond  the  heather." 

O'er  the  muir  amang  the  heather, 
O'er  the  muir  amang  the  heather; 
Were  I  a  king  thou  shouldst  be  mine, 
Dear  blooming  maid,  amang  the  heather. 

Away  she  flew  out  of  my  view, 
Her  hame  or  name  I  ne'er  could  gather, 

But  aye  sin'  syne  I  sigh  and  pine 
For  that  sweet  lass  amang  the  heather. 

O'er  the  muir  amang  the  heather, 
O'er  the  muir  amang  the  heather; 
While  vital  heat  glows  in  my  heart 
I'll  love  the  lass  among  the  heather. 


XXXVII 
LIZZY   LINDSAY 

(ROBERT  BURNS) 

WILL  ye  gang  wi'  me,  Lizzy  Lindsay, 
Will  ye  gang  to  the  Highlands  wi'  me? 

Will  ye  gang  wi'  me,  Lizzy  Lindsay, 
My  bride  and  my  darling  to  be? 
55 


THE  MAID  OF  LLANWELLYN 

To  gang  to  the  Highlands  wi'  you,  sir, 
I  dinna  ken  how  that  may  be; 

For  I  ken  nae  the  land  that  you  live  in, 
Nor  ken  I  the  lad  I'm  gaun  wi'. 

O  Lizzy,  lass,  ye  maun  ken  little, 

If  sae  ye  dinna  ken  me ; 
For  my  name  is  Lord  Ronald  MacDonald, 

A  chieftain  o'  high  degree. 

She  has  kilted  her  coats  o'  green  satin, 
She  has  kilted  them  up  to  the  knee, 

And  she's  off  wi'  Lord  Ronald  MacDonald, 
His  bride  and  his  darling  to  be. 


XXXVIII 

THE   MAID   OF   LLANWELLYN 

(JOANNA  BAILLIE) 

I'VE  no  sheep  on  the  mountain,  nor  boat  on 

the  lake, 

Nor  coin  in  my  coffer  to  keep  me  awake, 
Nor  corn  in  my  garner,    nor   fruit    on    my 

tree — 
Yet  the  maid  of  Llanwellyn  smiles  sweetly 

on  me. 

56 


THE  MAID  OF  LLANWELLYN 

Soft  tapping,  at  eve,  to  her  window  I  came, 
And  loud  bay'd  the  watch-dog,  loud  scolded 

the  dame; 
For  shame,  silly  Lightfoot;  what  is  it   to 

thee; 
Though    the    maid    of   Llanwellyn    smiles 

sweetly  on  me? 

Rich  Owen  will  tell  you,   with  eyes  full  of 

scorn, 
Threadbare  is  my  coat,  and  my  hosen  are 

torn: 
Scoff  on,  my  rich   Owen,   for  faint   is   thy 

glee 
When  the  maid  of  Llanwellyn  smiles  sweetly 

on  me. 

The  farmer  rides  proudly  to  market  or  fair, 
The  clerk,  at  the  alehouse,  still  claims  the 

great  chair; 
But  of  all  our  proud  fellows  the  proudest  I'll 

be, 
While  the  maid  of  Llanwellyn  smiles  sweetly 

on  me. 

For  blythe  as  the  urchin  at  holiday  play, 
And  meek  as  the  matron  in  mantle  of  gray, 
And  trim  as  the  lady  of  gentle  degree, 
Is  the  maid  of  Llanwellyn  who  smiles  upon 
me. 

57 


CORN  RIGS 

XXXIX 

CORN   RIGS 
(ROBERT  BURNS) 

IT  was  upon  a  Lammas  night, 

When  corn  rigs  are  bonnie, 
Beneath  the  moon's  unclouded  light, 

I  held  awa'  to  Annie: 
The  time  flew  by  wi'  tentless  heed, 

Till  'tween  the  late  and  early, 
Wi'  sma'  persuasion  she  agreed 

To  see  me  thro'  the  barley. 

Corn  rigs,  and  barley  rigs, 
And  corn  rigs  are  bonnie: 

I'll  ne'er  forget  that  happy  night, 
Amang  the  rigs  wi'  Annie. 

The  sky  was  blue,  the  wind  was  still, 

The  moon  was  shining  clearly; 
I  set  her  down  wi'  right  good  will 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley; 
I  ken't  her  heart  was  a'  my  ain; 

I  lov'd  her  most  sincerely; 
I  kissed  her  owre  and  owre  again, 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley. 
58 


FLORA  MACDONALD'S  LAMENT 

I  lock'd  her  in  my  fond  embrace; 

Her  heart  was  beating  rarely: 
My  blessings  on  that  happy  place, 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley; 
But  by  the  moon  and  stars  so  bright, 

That  shone  that  hour  so  clearly! 
She  aye  shall  bless  that  happy  night, 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley. 

I  ha'e  been  blythe  wi'  comrades  dear: 

I  ha'e  been  merry  drinkin' ; 
I  ha'e  been  joyfu'  gath'rin'  gear; 

I  ha'e  been  happy  thinkin' : 
But  a'  the  pleasures  e'er  I  saw, 

Tho'  three  times  doubl'd  fairly, 
That  happy  night  was  worth  them  a', 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley. 


XL 

FLORA   MACDONALD'S   LAMENT 

(JAMES  HOGG) 

FAR  over  yon  hills  of  the  heather  sae  green, 
An'  down  by  the  corrie  that  sings  to  the 

sea, 

The  bonny  young  Flora  sat  sighing  her  lane, 
The  dew  on  her  plaid,  and  the  tear  in  her 
e'e. 

59 


FLORA  MACDONALD'S  LAMENT 

She  look'd  at  a  boat  wi'  the  breezes  that 

swung, 
Away    on   the   wave,    like    a   bird  of  the 

main; 
An'   aye    as   it  lessen'd    she    sigh'd    and  she 

sung, 

Fareweel  to  the  lad  I  shall  ne'er  see  again ! 
Fareweel     to    my    hero,    the    gallant    and 

young, 
Fareweel  to  the  lad  I  shall  ne'er  see  again ! 

The  moorcock  that  craws  on  the  brows  of 

Ben-Connal, 
He   kens    of  his   bed    in   a   sweet   mossy 

hame; 

The  eagle  that  soars  o'er  the  cliffs  of  Clan- 
Ronald, 

Unawed  and  unhunted  his  eyrie  can  claim ; 
The  solan  can  sleep  on   the   shelve   of  the 

shore, 
The  cormorant  roost  on  his  rock  of  the 

sea, 
But   ah!    there   is    one   whose   hard   fate  I 

deplore, 
Nor  house,  ha',  nor  hame  in  his  country 

has  he! 
The  conflict  is  past   and   our   name   is   no 

more — 

There's  nought  left  but  sorrow  for  Scot- 
land and  me! 

60 


O,  WHERE,  TELL  ME  WHERE 

The  target  is  torn  from  the  arm  of  the  just, 
The  helmet  is  cleft  on   the    brow    of  the 

brave, 

The  claymore  forever  in  darkness  must  rust, 
But  red  is  the  sword  of  the  stranger  and 

slave ; 
The  hoof  of  the  horse  and  the  foot  of  the 

proud, 
Have  trod  o'er  the  plumes  on  the  bonnet 

of  blue ; 
Why  slept  the  red  bolt  in  the  breast  of  the 

cloud, 

When  tyranny  revell'd  in  blood  of  the  true? 
Fareweel,   my  young  hero,   the  gallant  and 

good! 

The  crown  of  thy  fathers  is  torn  from  thy 
brow! 


XLI 
O,   WHERE,   TELL  ME   WHERE 

(MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN) 

"O,  WHERE,  tell  me  where,  is  your  Highland 

laddie  gone? 
O,   where,   tell  me  where,  is  your  Highland 

laddie  gone?" 
"He's  gone,  with  streaming  banners,  where 

noble  deeds  are  done, 
61 


O,  WHERE,  TELL  ME  WHtRE 

And  my  sad  heart  will  tremble  till  he  comes 

safely  home. 
He's  gone  with  streaming   banners,    where 

noble  deeds  are  done, 
And  my  sad  heart  will  tremble  till  he  comes 

safely  home." 


"O,  where,  tell  me  where,  did  your  Highland 

laddie  stay? 
O,  where,  tell  me  where,  did  your  Highland 

laddie  stay?" 
"He  dwelt  beneath  the  holly-trees,  beside  the 

rapid  Spey, 
And  many  a  blessing  follow'd  him,  the  day 

he  went  away. 
He  dwelt  beneath  the  holly-trees,  beside  the 

rapid  Spey, 
And  many  a  blessing  follow'd  him,  the  day 

he  went  away." 


"O,  what,  tell  me  what,  does  your  Highland 

laddie  wear? 
O,  what,  tell  me  what,  does  your  Highland 

laddie  wear?" 
"A  bonnet  with  a  lofty  plume,  the  gallant 

badge  of  war, 
And  a  plaid  across  the  manly  breast  that 

yet  shall  wear  a  star; 
62 


O,   WHERE,  TELL  ME  WHERE 

A  bonnet  with  a  lofty  plume,  the   gallant 

badge  of  war, 
And  a  plaid  across  the  manly  breast  that 

yet  shall  wear  a  star." 

"Suppose,  ah,  suppose,  that  some  cruel,  cruel 

wound, 
Should  pierce  your  Highland  laddie,  and  all 

your  hopes  confound!" 
"The  pipe  would  play  a  cheering  march,  the 

banners  round  him  fly, 
The  spirit  of  a  Highland  chief  would  lighten 

in  his  eye; 
The  pipe  would  play  a  cheering  march,  the 

banners  round  him  fly, 
And  for  his  king  and    country    dear,    with 

pleasure  he  would  die!" 

"But  I  will  hope  to  see  him  yet,  in  Scotland's 

bonny  bounds;  * 

But  I  will  hope  to  see  him  yet,  in  Scotland's 

bonny  bounds. 
His  native  land  of  liberty   shall   nurse    his 

glorious  wounds, 
While,  wide  through  all  our  Highland  hills, 

his  warlike  name  resounds; 
His  native  land  of  liberty   shall   nurse   his 

glorious  wounds, 
While,  wide  through  all  our  Highland  hills, 

his  warlike  name  resounds." 

63 


CHARLIE  IS  MY   DARLING 

XLII 

CHARLIE   IS  MY   DARLING 

(LADY  NAIRNE) 

'TWAS  on  a  Monday  morning 

Right  early  in  the  year, 
When  Charlie  cam'  to  our  toun, 

The  young  Chevalier. 

Oh!  Charlie  is  my  darling, 
My  darling,  my  darling, 

Oh!  Charlie  is  my  darling, 
The  young  Chevalier. 

As  he  cam'  marching  up  the  street, 
The  pipes  play'd  loud  and  clear, 

And  a'  the  folk  cam'  running  out, 
To  meet  the  Chevalier. 

Oh!  Charlie  is  my  darling,  &c. 

Wi'  Hieland  bonnets  on  their  heads, 
And  claymores  bright  and  clear, 

They  cam'  to  fight  for  Scotland's  right 
And  the  young  Chevalier. 

Oh!  Charlie  is  my  darling,  &c. 

64 


THE  ROWAN  TREE 

They've  left  their  bonnie  Hieland  hills, 
Their  wives  and  bairnies  dear, 

To  draw  the  sword  for  Scotland's  lord, 
The  young  Chevalier. 

Oh!  Charlie  is  my  darling,  &c. 

Oh!  there  were  many  beating  hearts 

And  many  a  hope  and  fear, 
And  many  were  the  prayers  put  up 

For  the  young  Chevalier. 

Oh!  Charlie  is  my  darling,  &c. 


XLIII 


OH,  Rowan  tree!    Oh,   Rowan  tree!  thou'lt 

aye  be  dear  to  me, 
Intwined  thou  art  wi'  mcJny  ties  o'   hame 

and  infancy; 
Thy  leaves  were  aye  the  first  o'  spring,  thy 

flow'rs  the  simmer's  pride; 
There  was  nae  sic  a  bonnie  tree,  in  a'  the 

country  side. 

Oh,  Rowan  tree! 

5  65 


THE  ROWAN  TREE 

How  fair  wert  thou  in  simmer  time,  wi'  a* 
thy  clusters  white, 

How  rich  and  gay  thy  autumn  dress,  wi' 
berries  red  and  bright, 

We    sat    aneath   thy    spreading    shade,    the 
bairnies  round  thee  ran; 

They  pu'd  thy  bonnie  berries  red,  and  neck- 
laces they  strang. 

Oh,  Rowan  tree! 

On  thy  fair  stem  were  mony  names,   which 

now  nae  mair  I  see; 
But  they're  engraven  on  my  heart,  forgot 

they  ne'er  can  be; 
My  mother!   oh!   I  see  her  still,   she  smil'd 

our  sports  to  see; 
Wi'  little  Jeanie  on  her  lap,  wi'  Jamie  at  her 

knee! 

Oh,  Rowan  tree! 

Oh!  there  arose  my  father's  prayer,  in  holy 

evening's  calm, 
How  sweet  was  then  my  mother's  voice,  in 

the  Martyr's  psalm; 
Now  a'  are  gane !  we  meet  nae  mair  aneath 

the  Rowan  tree, 
But  hallowed  thoughts  around  thee  twine 

o'  hame  and  infancy. 

Oh,  Rowan  tree! 
66 


THERE  GROWS  A  BONNIE  BRIER  BUSH 


XLIV 

THERE     GROWS     A     BONNIE      BRIER 
BUSH 

(LADY  NAIRNE) 

THERE  grows  a  bonnie  brier  bush  in  our  kail 

yard, 
And  white  are  the  blossoms  o't  in  our  kail 

yard, 
Like  wee  bit  cockauds,  to  deck  our  hieland 

lads, 
And  the  lassies  lo'e  the  bonnie  bush  in  our 

kail  yard. 

An'  it's  hame,   an'  it's  hame,  to  the  north 

countrie, 
An'  it's  hame,   an'  it's  hame,  to  the  north 

countrie, 

Where  my  bonnie  Jean  is  waiting  for  me, 
\Vi'  a  heart  kind  an'  true,  in  my  ain  countrie. 

But  were  they  a'  true  that  were  far  awa'? 
O'  were  they  a'  true  that  were  far  awa'? 
They    drew   up    wi'    glaikit    Englishers    at 

Carlisle  ha', 
And  forgot  auld  frien's  that  were  far  awa'. 

67 


THERE  GROWS  A  BONNIE  BRIER   BUSH 

Ye'll  come  nae  tnair,   Jamie,  where   aft   ye 

have  been, 
Ye'll    come    nae    mair,     Jamie,    to    Atholl's 

green, 

O'er  weel  ye  lo'ed  the  dancin'  at  -Carlisle  ha', 
And  forgot  the  hieland  hills,  that  were  far 
awa'. 

I  ne'er  lo'ed  a  dance  but  on  Atholl's  green, 
I  ne'er  lo'ed  a  lassie,  but  my  dorty  Jean, 
Sair,  sair  against  my  will,   did  I  bide   sae 

lang  awa', 
And  my  heart  was  aye  in  Atholl's  green,  at 

Carlisle  ha'. 

The  brier  bush  was  bonnie  ance  in  our  kail 

yard, 
The  brier  bush  was  bonnie  ance  in  our  kail 

yard, 
A  blast  blew  ower  the  hill,  that  ga'e  Atholl's 

flowers  a  chill, 
An  the  bloom's  blawn  aff  the  bonnie  bush  in 

our  kail  yard. 


68 


SAE  FLAXEN  WERE  HER  RINGLETS 

XLV 

SAE   FLAXEN   WERE   HER   RINGLETS 
(ROBERT  BURNS) 

SAE  flaxen  were  her  ringlets, 

Her  eyebrows  of  a  darker  hue, 
Bewitchingly  o'er-arching 

Twa  laughing  een  o'  bonnie  blue, 
Her  smiling,  sae  wiling, 

Wad  make  a  wretch  forget  his  woe; 
What  pleasure,  what  treasure, 

Unto  those  rosy  lips  to  grow; 
Such  was  my  Chloris'  bonnie  face, 
When  first  her  bonnie  face  I  saw, 
An'  aye  my  Chloris'  dearest  charm, 

She  says  she  lo'es  me  best  of  a'. 

Like  harmony  her  motion; 

Her  pretty  ankle  is  a  spy 
Betraying  fair  proportion, 

Wad  make  a  saint  forget  the  sky. 
Sae  warming,  sae  charming, 

Her  faultless  form  and  graceful  air; 
Ilk  feature — auld  nature 

Declared  that  she  could  do  nae  mair. 
69 


THE  SKYLARK 

Hers  are  the  willing  chains  o'  love, 
By  conquering  beauty's  sovereign  law; 

An'  aye  my  Chloris'  dearest  charm, 
She  says  she  lo'es  me  best  of  a'. 

Let  others  love  the  city, 

And  gaudy  show  at  sunny  noon; 
Gi'e  me  the  lonely  valley, 

The  dewy  eve,  and  rising  moon; 
Fair  beaming,  and  streaming, 

Her  silver  lights  the  boughs  amang; 
While  falling,  recalling, 

The  amorous  thrush  concludes  his  sang 
There,  dearest  Chloris,  wilt  thou  rove 

By  wimpling  burn  and  leafy  shaw, 
An'  hear  my  vows  o'  truth  and  love, 

An'  say  thou  lo'es  me  best  of  a'. 


XLVI 
THE    SKYLARK 

(JAMES  HOGG) 

BIRD  of  the  wilderness, 

Blythesome  and  cumberless, 
Sweet  be  thy  matin  o'er  moorland  and  lea! 

Emblems  of  happiness, 

Blessed  is  thy  dwelling-place, 
Oh!  to  abide  in  the  desert  with  thee! 
70 


THE  SKYLARK 

Wild  is  thy  lay  and  loud, 

Far  in  the  downy  cloud; 
Love  gives  its  energy,  love  gave  it  birth; 

Where  on  the  dewy  wing, 

Where  art  thou  journeying? 
Thy  lay  is  in  heaven,  thy  love  is  on  earth. 

O'er  fell  and  fountain  sheen, 

O'er  moor  and  mountain  green, 
O'er  the  red  streamer  that  heralds  the  day; 

Over  the  cloudlet  dim, 

Over  the  rainbow's  rim, 
Musical  cherub,  hie,  hie  thee  away! 

Then  when  the  gloaming  comes, 

Low  in  the  heather  blooms, 
Sweet  will  thy  welcome  and  bed  of  love  be ! 

Bird  of  the  wilderness, 

Bless' d  is  thy  dwelling-place, 
Oh!  to  abide  in  the  desert  with  thee. 


71 


YOUNG   LOCHINVAR 

XLVII 
YOUNG    LOCHINVAR 

(SIR    WALTER    SCOTT,    BART.) 

OH,  young    Lochinvar   is    come  out  of  the 

west; 
Through  all  the  wide  Border  his  steed  was 

the  best, 
And  save  his  good  broadsword  he  weapons 

had  none; 

He  rode  all  unarmed,  and  he  rode  all  alone. 
So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war. 
There  never  was  knight  like  the  young 

Lochinvar. 

He  stayed  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopped  not 

for  stone, 
He  swam  the  Esk  river  where  ford  there  was 

none; 

But  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate 
The  bride  had  consented,   the  gallant  came 

late: 
For  a  laggard  in  love,   and    a   dastard   in 

war, 
Was     to     wed     the    fair    Ellen     of     brave 

Lochinvar. 

72 


YOUNG  LOCHINVAR 

So  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  hall, 
Among  bridesmen  and  kinsmen,  and  brothers 

and  all; 
Then  spoke  the  bride's  father,   his  hand  on 

his  sword, 
(For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never 

a  word), 
"O  come  ye  in  peace  here,   or  come   ye   in 

war, 
Or    to    dance    at    our   bridal,    young   Lord 

Lochinvar?" 

"I  long  wooed  your  daughter,  my  suit  you 

denied ; 
Love  swells  like  the  Solway,   but  ebbs  like 

its  tide — 
And  now  I  am  come,  with  this  lost  love  of 

mine, 
To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of 

wine. 
There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely 

by  far, 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young 

Lochinvar." 

The  bride  kissed  the  goblet,  the  knight  took 

it  up, 
He  quaffed  off  the  wine,  and  he  threw  down 

the  cup, 

73 


YOUNG  LOCHINVAR 

She  looked  down  to  blush,   and  she  looked 

up  to  sigh, 
With  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  a  tear  in  her 

eye. 
He  took  her  soft  hand  ere  her  mother  could 

bar, — 
"Now  tread    we    a   measure!"    said   young 

Lochinvar. 

So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  her  face, 

That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace ; 

While  her  mother  did  fret,  and  her  father  did 
fume, 

And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his  bon- 
net and  plume; 

And  the  bridemaidens  whispered,  "'Twere 
better  by  far 

To  have  matched  our  fair  cousin  with  young 
Lochinvar." 

One  touch  of  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her 

ear, 
When  they  reached  the  hall  door,   and  the 

charger  stood  near; 

So  light  to  the  croupe  the  fair  lady  he  swung, 
So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung ! — 
"She  is  won!  we  are  gone,  over  bank,  bush, 

and  scaur; 
They'll  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow,"  quoth 

young  Lochinvar. 

74 


A  WEARY  LOT  IS  THINE,   FAIR  MAID 

There  was  mounting  'mong  Graemes  of  the 

Netherby  clan; 
Forsters,    Fenwicks,    and   Musgraves,    they 

rode  and  they  ran; 
There  was  racing,  and  chasing,  on  Cannobie 

Lee, 
But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne'er  did  they 

see. 

So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 
Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant   like   young 

Lochinvar? 


XLVIII 
A  WEARY  LOT    IS   THINE,    FAIR   MAID 

(SIR    WALTER    SCOTT,    BART.) 

"A  WEARY  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid, 

A  weary  lot  is  thine! 
To  pull  the  thorn  thy  brow  to  braid, 

And  press  the  rue  for  wine. 
A  lightsome  eye,  a  soldier's  mien, 

A  feather  of  the  blue, 
A  doublet  of  the  Lincoln  green- 
No  more  of  me  you  knew,  love ! 
No  more  of  me  you  knew. 
75 


MARY,   WHY  WASTE? 

"This  morn  is  merry  June,  I  trow, 

The  rose  is  budding  fain; 
But  it  shall  bloom  in  winter  snow, 

Ere  we  two  meet  again." 
He  turn'd  his  charger  as  he  spake, 

Upon  the  river  shore; 
He  gave  his  bridle-reins  a  shake, 

Said,  "Adieu  for  evermore,  my  love! 
And  adieu  for  evermore." 


XLIX 
MARY,    WHY   WASTE? 

(ROBERT  TANNAHILL) 

"MARY,  why  thus  waste  thy  youthtime  in 

sorrow? 
See,    a'    around    you    the  flowers  sweetly 

blaw; 
Blythe   sets    the  sun  o'er  the  wild  cliffs  of 

Jura, 

Blythe  sings  the  mavis  in  ilka  green  shaw." 
"How   can   this    heart   ever   mair  think  of 

pleasure? 

Summer  may  smile,  but  delight  I  ha'e  nane ; 
Cauld   in   the   grave   lies   my   heart's    only 

treasure, 

Nature  seems  dead  since  my  Jamie  is  gane. 
76 


MARY,   WHY  WASTE? 

"This  'kerchief  he  gave  me,   a  true   lover's 
token, 

Dear,  dear  to  me  was  the  gift  for  his  sake ! 
I  wear't  near  my  heart,  but  this  poor  heart 
is  broken, 

Hope  died  with  Jamie,  and  left  it  to  break ; 
Sighing  for  him,  I  lie  down  in  the  e'ening, 

Sighing  for  him,  I  awake  in  the  morn; 
Spent  are  my  days  a'  in  secret  repining, 

Peace  to  this  bosom  can  never  return. 

"Oft  have  we  wander'd  in  sweetest  retire- 
ment, 
Telling  our  loves  'neath  the  moon's  silent 

beam, 

Sweet  were  our  meetings  of  tender  endear- 
ment, 
But  fled  are  these  joys  like  a  fleet-passing 

dream. 
Cruel  remembrance,  in  pity  forsake  me, 

Brooding  o'er  joys  that  for  ever  are  flown ! 
Cruel  remembrance,  in  pity  forsake  me, 
Flee   to   some   bosom   where   grief  is  un- 
known!" 


77 


HARPER  OF  MULL 


WHEN  Rosie  was  faithful,  how  happy  was  I ! 
Still  gladsome  as  summer  the  time  glided  by : 
I  play'd  my  heart  cheery,  while  fondly  I 

sang 
Of  the  charms  of  my  Rosie  the  winter  nights 

lang: 

But  now  I'm  as  waefu'  as  waefu'  can  be, 
Come  simmer,  come  winter,   'tis  a'   ane  to 

me, 
For  the  dark  gloom  of  falsehood  sae  clouds 

my  sad  soul, 
That  cheerless  for  aye  is  the  Harper  of  Mull, 

I    wander    the   glens    and    the    wild  woods 

alane, 
In   their   deepest   recesses   I   make   my  sad 

mane; 
My   harp's    mournful    melody   joins   in    the 

strain, 
While   sadly   I   sing   of  the   days   that  are 

gane. 

78 


HARPER  OF  MULL 

Though  Rosie  is  faithless,  she's  no  the  less 

fair, 
And  the  thoughts  of  her  beauty  but  feed  my 

despair ; 

With  painful  remembrance  my  bosom  is  full, 
And  weary  of  life  is  the  Harper  of  Mull. 

As  slumb'ring  I  lay  by  the  dark  mountain 

stream, 
My   lovely    young    Rosie    appear'd    in    my 

dream ; 
I  thought  her  still  kind,  and  I  ne'er  was  sae 

blest, 
As  in  fancy  1  clasp'd  the  dear  nymph  to  my 

breast ; 
Thou   false    fleeting    vision,    too  soon  thou 

wert  o'er, 
Thou    wak'dst    me   to    tortures    unequall'd 

before ; 
But  death's  silent  slumbers  my  griefs  soon 

shall  lull, 
And  the  green  grass  wave  over  the  Harper 

of  Mull. 


79 


IF  DOUGHTY   DEEDS  MY   LADY  PLEASE 


LI 

IF   DOUGHTY   DEEDS   MY    LADY 
PLEASE 

(ROBERT  GRAHAM  OF  GARTMORE) 

IF  doughty  deeds  my  lady  please, 
Right  soon  I'll  mount  my  steed: 

And  strong  his  arm,  and  fast  his  seat, 
That  bares  frae  me  the  meed. 

I'll  wear  thy  colors  in  my  cap, 

Thy  picture  in  my  heart; 
And  he  that  bends  not  to  thine  eye, 
Shall  rue  it  to  his  smart. 
Then  tell  me  how  to  woo  thee,  love, 

O  tell  me  how  to  woo  thee! 
For  thy  dear  sake,  nae  care  I'll  take 
Though  ne'er  another  trow  me. 

If  gay  attire  delight  thine  eye, 

I'll  dight  me  in  array; 
I'll  tend  thy  chamber  door  all  night, 

And  squire  thee  all  the  day. 
If  sweetest  sounds  can  win  thine  ear, 

These  sounds  I'll  strive  to  catch; 
Thy  voice  I'll  steal  to  woo  thysell, 

That  voice  that  nane  can  match. 

80 


THE  LAND  O'  THE  LEAL 

But  if  fond  love  thy  heart  can  -gain, 

I  never  broke  a  vow; 
Nae  maiden  lays  her  skaith  to  me; 

I  never  loved  but  you. 
For  you  alone  I  ride  the  ring, 

For  you  I  wear  the  blue; 
For  you  alone  I  strive  to  sing — 

O  tell  me  how  to  woo! 


LII 

THE   LAND   O'   THE   LEAL 
(LADY  NAIRNE) 

I'M  wearm  awa',  John, 

Like  snaw  wreaths  in  thaw,  John, 

I'm  wearin'  awa' 

To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 
There's  nae  sorrow  there,  John, 
There's  neither  cauld  nor  care,  John, 
The  day  is  aye  fair 

In  the  land  o'  the  leal. 

Our  bonnie  bairn's  there,  John, 
She  was  baith  gude  and  fair,  John, 
And  oh!  we  grudged  her  sair 
To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 

6  81 


THE  LAND  O'  THE   LEAL 

But  sorrow's  sel'  wears  past,  John, 
And  joy's  a-comin'  fast,  John, 
The  joy  that's  aye  to  last 
In  the  land  o'  the  leal. 

Sae  dear's  that  joy  was  bought,  John, 
Sae  free  the  battle  fought,  John, 
That  sinfu'  man  e'er  brought 

To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 
Oh!  dry  your  glistn'ing  e'e,  John, 
My  soul  langs  to  be  free,  John, 
And  angels  beckon  me 

To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 

Oh!  haud  ye  leal  and  true,  John, 
Your  day  it's  wearin'  thro',  John, 
And  I'll  welcome  you 

To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 
Now  fare  ye  weel,  my  ain  John, 
This  world's  cares  are  vain,  John, 
We'll  meet,  and  aye  be  fain, 

In  the  land  o'  the  leal. 


82 


MY  LOVE  SHE'S  BUT  A  LASSIE  YET 

LIII 

MY   LOVE   SHE'S   BUT   A   LASSIE    YET 
(JAMES  HOGG) 

MY  love  she's  but  a  lassie  yet, 
A  lightsome  lovely  lassie  yet; 

It  scarce  wad  do 

To  sit  an'  woo 

Down  by  the  stream  sae  glassy  yet. 
But  there's  a  braw  time  coming  yet, 
When  we  may  gang  a-roaming  yet; 

An'  hint  wi'  glee 

O'  joys  to  be, 
When  fa's  the  modest  gloaming  yet. 

She's  neither  proud  nor  saucy  yet, 
She's  neither  plump  nor  gaucy  yet; 

But  just  a  jinking, 

Bonnie  blinking, 
Hilty-skilty  lassie  yet. 
But  O,  her  artless  smiles  mair  sweet 
Than  hinny  or  than  marmalete; 

An'  right  or  wrang, 

Ere  it  be  lang, 

I'll  bring  her  to  a  parley  yet. 
83 


O,   ARE  YE  SLEEPIN',   MAGGIE 

I'm  jealous  o'  what  blesses  her, 
The  very  breeze  that  kisses  her, 

The  flowry  beds 

On  which  she  treads, 
Though  wae  for  ane  that  misses  her. 
Then  O  to  meet  my  lassie  yet, 
Up  in  yon  glen  sae  grassy  yet; 

For  all  I  see 

Are  nought  fo*  me, 
Save  her  that's  but  a  lassie  yet! 


LIV 

O,   ARE   YE   SLEEPIN',   MAGGIE 
(ROBERT  TANNAHILL) 

O,  ARE  ye  sleepin',  Maggie? 

O,  are  ye  sleepin',  Maggie? 

Let  me  in,  for  loud  the  linn 

Is  roarin'  o'er  the  warlock  craigie! 

Mirk  and  rainy  is  the  night, 

No  a  starn  in  a'  the  carie; 
Lightnings  gleam  athwart  the  lift, 

And  winds  drive  on  wi'  winter's  fury. 

O,  are  ye  sleepin',  Maggie?  &c. 
84 


O,  ARE  YE  SLEEPIN',   MAGGIE 

Fearfu*  soughs  the  bourtree  bank, 
The  rifted  wood  roars  wild  and  dreary, 

Loud  the  iron  gate  goes  clank, 
And  cry  of  howlets  makes  me  eerie. 

O,  are  ye  sleepin',  Maggie?  &c. 

Aboon  my  breath  I  daurna  speak, 
For  fear  I  rouse  your  waukrife  daddie, 

Cauld's  the  blast  upon  my  cheek, 
O  rise,  rise  my  bonnie  lady! 

O,  are  ye  sleepin',  Maggie?  &c. 

She  opt  the  door,  she  let  him  in, 
He  cuist  aside  his  dreepin'  plaidie: 

"Blaw  your  warst,  ye  rain  and  win', 
Since,  Maggie,  now  I'm  in  aside  ye." 

Now,  since  ye'er  wakin',  Maggie! 
Now,  since  ye'er  wakin',  Maggie! 
What  care  I  for  howlet's  cry, 
For  bourtree  bank,  or  warlock  craigie? 


85 


THE  WOMEN  FOLK 

LV 

THE   WOMEN   FOLK 

(JAMES  HOGG) 

0  SARELY  I  rue  the  day 

I  fancied  first  the  womankind; 
For  aye  sinsyne  I  ne'er  can  ha'e 

Ae  quiet  thought  or  peace  o'  mind! 
They   ha'e   plagued  my  heart,  and  pleased 
my  e'e, 

An'  teased  an'  flatter'd  me  at  will, 
But  aye  for  a'  their  witchery, 

The  pawky  things  I  lo'e  them  still. 

O,  the  women  folk !    O,  the  women  folk ! 

But  they  ha'e  been  the  wreck  o'  me; 
O,  weary  fa'  the  women  folk; 

For  they  winna  let  a  body  be! 

1  ha'e  thought  an'  thought,  but  darena  tell, 
I've  studied  them  wi'  a'  my  skill, 

I've  lo'ed  them  better  than  myseP, 
I've  tried  again  to  like  them  ill. 

Wha  sairest  strives,  will  sairest  rue, 
To  comprehend  what  nae  man  can; 

When  he  has  done  what  man  can  do, 
He'll  end  at  last  where  he  began. 

O,  the  women  folk !  &c. 

86 


THE   WOMEN   FOLK 

That  they  ha'e  gentle  forms  an'  meet, 

A  man  wi'  half  a  look  may  see ; 
An'  gracefu'  airs,  an'  faces  sweet, 

An'  waving  curls  aboon  the  bree; 
An'  smiles  as  soft  as  the  young  rosebud, 

An'  e'en  sae  pawky,  bright,  an'  rare, 
Wad  lure  the  laverock  frae  the  clud — 

But  laddie,  seek  to  ken  nae  mair! 

O,  the  women  folk !  &c. 

Even  but  this  night,  nae  farther  gane, 

The  date  is  neither  lost  nor  lang, 
I  tak  ye  witness,  ilka  ane, 

How  fell  they  fought,  and  fairly  dang. 
Their  point  they've  carried,  right  or  wrang, 

Without  a  reason,  rhyme,  or  law, 
An'  forced  a  man  to  sing  a  sang, 

That  ne'er  could  sing  a  verse  ava'. 

O,  the  women  folk !  the  women  folk ! 

But  they  ha'e  been  the  wreck  o'  me; 
O,  weary  fa'  the  women  folk, 

For  they  winna  let  a  body  be! 


87 


WHEN  JOHN  AND  ME  WERE   MARRIED 

LVI 

WHEN  JOHN  AND  ME  WERE   MARRIED 
(ROBERT  TANNAHILL) 

WHEN  John  and  me  were  married, 

Our  hading  was  but  sma', 
For  my  minnie,  canker't  carling, 

Wou'd  gi'e  us  nocht  ava' ; 
I  wair't  my  fee  wi'  canny  care, 

As  far  as  it  wou'd  gae, 
But  weel  I  wat,  our  bridal  bed 

Was  clean  pease-strae. 

Wi'  working  late  and  early, 

We're  come  to  what  ye  see, 
For  fortune  thrave  aneath  our  hands, 

Sae  eydent  aye  were  we. 
The  lowe  of  love  made  labor  light; 

I'm  sure  ye'll  find  it  sae, 
When  kind  ye  cuddle  down  at  e'en 

'Mang  clean  pease-strae. 

The  rose  blows  gay  on  cairny  brae, 

As  weel's  in  birken  shaw, 
And  love  will  lowe  in  cottage  low, 

As  weel's  in  lofty  ha' ; 

88 


[  MARK'D  A  GEM  OF  PEARLY  DEW 

Sae,  lassie,  take  the  lad  ye  like, 

Whate'er  your  minnie  say, 
Tho'  ye  should  make  your  bridal  bed 

Of  clean  pease-strae. 


LVII 

I   MARK'D    A    GEM    OF    PEARLY    DEW 
(ROBERT  TANNAHILL) 

1  MARK'D  a  gem  of  pearly  dew, 

While  wand'ring  near  yon  misty  mountain, 
Which  bore  the  tender  flow'r  so  low, 

It  dropp'd  it  off  into  the  fountain. 
So  thou  has  wrung  this  gentle  heart, 

Which  in  its  core  was  proud  to  wear  thee, 
Till  drooping  sick  beneath  thy  art, 

It,  sighing,  found  it  could  not  bear  thee. 

Adieu,  thou  faithless  fair !  unkind ! 

Thy  falsehood  dooms  that  we  must  sever ; 
Thy  vows  were  as  the  passing  wind, 

That  fans  the  flow'r,  then  dies  for  ever. 
And  think  not  that  this  gentle  heart, 

Though  in  its  core  'twas  proud  to  wear 

thee, 
Shall  longer  droop  beneath  thy  art; — 

No,  cruel  fair,  it  cannot  bear  thee. 
89 


WE'LL  MEET  BESIDE  THE  DUSKY   GLEN 


LVIII 

WE'LL     MEET     BESIDE     THE     DUSKY 
GLEN 

(ROBERT  TANNAHILL) 

WE'LL,  meet  beside  the  dusky  glen,  on  yon 

burn-side, 
WThere  the  bushes  form  a  cozie  den,  on  yon 

burn-side : 

Though  the  broomy  knowes  be  green, 
Yet  there  we  may  be  seen; 
But  we'll  meet — we'll  meet  at  e'en,  down  by 
yon  burn-side. 

I'll  lead  thee  to  the  birken  bower  on  yon 

burn-side, 
Sae  sweetly  wove  wi'  woodbine  flower,  on 

yon  burn-side: 
There  the  busy  prying  eye 
Ne'er  disturbs  the  lover's  joy, 
While  in  other's  arm  they  lie,  down  by  yon 
burn-side. 

Awa'  ye  rude  unfeelin'  crew,  frae  yon  burn- 
side! 

Those  fairy  scenes  are  no  for  you,  by  yon 
burn-side : 

90 


WHAT  AILS  YOU  NOW 

There  fancy  smooths  her  theme, 
By  the  sweetly  murmurin'  stream, 
And  the  rock-lodged  echoes  skim,  down  by 
yon  burn-side. 

Now  the  plantin'  taps  are  tinged  wi'  gowd 

on  yon  burn-side. 
And  gloamin'  draws  her  foggie  shroud  o'er 

yon  burn-side: 
Far  frae  the  noisy  scene, 
I'll  through  the  fields  alane; 
There  we'll  meet,  my  ain  dear  Jean!  down 
by  yon  burn-side. 


LIX 

WHAT   AILS   YOU   NOW 

(ALEXANDER  DOUGLAS) 

WHAT  ails  you  now,  my  daintie  Pate, 

Ye  winna  wed  an'  a'  that? 
Say,  are  ye  fley'd,  or  are  ye  blate, 
To  tell  your  love  an'  a'  that? 
To  kiss  an'  clap,  an'  a'  that? 
O  fy  for  shame,  an'  a'  that, 
To  spend  your  life  without  a  wife; 
'Tis  no  the  gate  ava  that. 
91 


BIRKS  OF  ABERFELDY 

Ere  lang  you  will  grow  auld  and  frail, 

Your  haffets  white  an*  a'  that; 
An  whare's  the  Meg,  the  Kate,  or  Nell, 
Will  ha'e  you  syne  wi'  a'  that? 
Runkled  brow  an'  a*  that; 
Wizzen'd  face  an'  a'  that; 
Wi'  beard  sae  grey,  there's  nane  will  ha'e 
A  kiss  frae  you,  an'  a'  that. 


LX 

BIRKS   OF   ABERFELDY 
(ROBERT  BURNS) 

BONNIE  lassie,  will  ye  go, 
Will  ye  go,  will  ye  go; 
Bonnie  lassie,  will  ye  go, 
To  the  birks  of  Aberfeldy? 

Now  simmer  blinks  on  flowery  braes, 
An'  o'er  the  crystal  streamlet  plays; 
Come,  let  us  spend  the  lightsome  days 
In  the  birks  of  Aberfeldy. 

The  little  birdies  blythely  sing, 
While  o'er  their  heads  the  hazels  hing, 
Or  lightly  flit  on  wanton  wing 
In  the  birks  of  Aberfeldy. 
92 


THE  THISTLE  AND  THE  ROSE 

The  braes  ascend,  like  lofty  wa's, 
The  foamy  stream  deep-roaring  fa's, 
O'erhung  wi'  fragrant  spreading  shaws, 
The  birks  of  Aberfeldy. 

The  hoary  cliffs  are  crown'd  wi'  flowers, 
White  o'er  the  linns  the  burnie  pours, 
An'  rising,  weets  wi'  misty  showers 
The  birks  of  Aberfeldy. 

Let  fortune's  gifts  at  random  flee, 
They  ne'er  shall  draw  a  wish  frae  me 
Supremely  blest  wi'  love  an'  thee, 
In  the  birks  of  Aberfeldy. 


(ROBERT  ALLAN) 

THERE  grew  in  bonnie  Scotland 

A  thistle  and  a  brier, 
And  aye  they  twined  and  clasp'd, 

Like  sisters,  kind  and  dear. 
The  rose  it  was  sae  bonnie, 

It  could  ilk  bosom  charm; 
The  thistle  spread  its  thorny  leaf, 

To  keep  the  rose  frae  harm. 
93 


THE  THISTLE  AND  THE  ROSE 

A  bonnie  laddie  tended 

The  rose  baith  ear'  and  late; 
He  water'd  it,  and  fann'd  it, 

And  wove  it  with  his  fate; 
And  the  leal  hearts  of  Scotland 

Pray'd  it  might  never  fa', 
The  thistle  was  sae  bonnie  green, 

The  rose  sae  like  the  snaw. 

But  the  weird  sisters  sat 

Where  Hope's  fair  emblems  grew; 
They  drapt  a  drap  upon  the  rose 

O'  bitter,  blasting  dew; 
And  aye  they  twined  the  mystic  thread,- 

But  ere  their  task  was  done, 
The  snaw-white  shade  it  disappear'd, 

And  wit  her 'd  in  the  sun! 

A  bonnie  laddie  tended 

The  rose  baith  ear'  and  late; 
He  water'd  it  and  fann'd  it, 

And  wove  it  with  his  fate; 
But  the  thistle  tap  it  wither'd, 

Winds  bore  it  far  awa', 
And  Scotland's  heart  was  broken, 

For  the  rose  sae  like  the  snaw! 


94 


AS  I  CAM'   DOWN   THE  CANONGATE 

LXII 

AS    I    CAM'    DOWN    THE     CANONGATE 

(ANONYMOUS) 

As  I  cam'  down  the  Canongate, 
The  Canongate,  the  Canongate, 
As  I  cam'  down  the  Canongate, 
I  heard  a  lassie  sing, 

Merry  may  the  keel  row, 
The  keel  row,  the  keel  row, 
Merry  may  the  keel  row, 
The  ship  that  my  love's  in. 

My  love  has  breath  o'  roses, 
O'  roses,  o'  roses, 
Wi'  arms  o'  lily  posies, 
To  fauld  a  lassie  in. 

O  merry,  &c. 

My  love  he  wears  a  bonnet, 
A  bonnet,  a  bonnet, 
A  snawy  rose  upon  it, 
A  dimple  on  his  chin. 

O  merry,  &c. 
95 


KELVIN  GROVE 

LXIII 

KELVIN   GROVE 
(THOMAS  LYLE) 

LET  us  haste  to  Kelvin  Grove,  bonnie  las- 
sie, O! 

Through  its  mazes  let  us  rove,  bonnie  las- 
sie, O! 

Where  the  rose  in  all  her  pride 
Paints  the  hollow  dingle  side, 
Where    the    midnight    fairies    glide,    bonnie 
lassie,  O! 

Let  us  wander  by  the  mill,  bonnie  lassie,  O! 
To  the  cove  beside  the  rill,  bonnie  lassie,  O ! 

Where  the  glens  rebound  the  call 

Of  the  roaring  water's  fall, 
Through  the  mountain's  rocky  hall,  bonnie 
lassie,  O! 

O  Kelvin  banks  are  fair,  bonnie  lassie,  O ! 
When  in  summer  we  are  there,   bonnie  las- 
sie, O! 

There  the  May  pink's  crimson  plume 
Throws  a  soft  but  sweet  perfume 
Round  the  yellow  banks  of  broom,  bonnie 
lassie,  O! 

96 


KELVIN  GROVE 

Though  I  dare  not  call  thee  mine,    bonnie 

lassie,  O! 

As  the  smile  of  fortune's  thine,  bonnie  las- 
sie, O! 

Yet  with  fortune  on  my  side 
I  could  stay  thy  father's  pride, 
And  win  thee  for  my  bride,  bonnie  lassie,  O ! 

But   the   frowns    of  fortune   lower,    bonnie 

lassie,  O! 

On  thy  lover  at  this  hour,  bonnie  lassie,  O! 
Ere  yon  golden  orb  of  day 
Wake  the  warblers  on  the  spray, 
From  this  land  I   must   away,  bonnie   las- 
sie, O! 

Then  farewell  to  Kelvin  Grove,  bonnie  las- 

%     sie,  O! 

And  adieu  to  all  I  love,  bonnie  lassie,  O! 
To  the  river  winding  clear, 
To  the  fragrant-scented  breer, 
Even   to   thee  of  all  most  dear,  bonnie  las- 
sie, O! 

When  upon  a  foreign  shore,  bonnie  lassie,  O ! 
Should    I   fall  'midst   battle's    roar,    bonnie 

lassie,  O! 

Then,  Helen!  shouldst  thou  hear 
Of  thy  lover  on  his  bier, 
To  his  memory  shed  a  tear,  bonnie  lassie,  O ! 
7  97 


MARY'S  DREAM 

LXIV 

MARY'S     DREAM 
(JOHN  LOWE) 

THE  moon  had  climb' d  the  highest  hill 

Which  rises  o'er  the  source  of  Dee, 
And  from  the  eastern  summit  shed 

Her  silver  light  on  tower  and  tree, 
When  Mary  laid  her  down  to  sleep, 

Her  thoughts  on  Sandy  far  at  sea; 
When  soft  and  low  a  voice  was  heard, 

"Sweet  Mary,  weep  no  more  for  me!" 

She  from  her  pillow  gently  raised 

Her  head  to  ask  who  there  might  be, 
And  saw  young  Sandy  shivering  stand, 

With  visage  pale,  and  hollow  e'e. 
"O,  Mary  dear,  cold  is  my  clay; 

It  lies  beneath  a  stormy  sea, 
Far,  far  from  thee  I  sleep  in  death, 

So,  Mary,  weep  no  more  for  me! 

"Three  stormy  nights  and  stormy  days 
We  tossed  upon  the  raging  main; 

And  long  we  strove  our  bark  to  save, 
But  all  our  striving  was  in  vain. 

98 


SOMEBODY 

Even  then,  when  horror  chilled  my  blood, 
My  heart  "was  filled  with  love  for  thee 

The  storm  is  past,  and  I  at  rest, 
So,  Mary,  weep  no  more  for  me! 

"O  maiden  dear,  thyself  prepare; 

We  soon  shall  meet  upon  that  shore 
Where  love  is  free  from  doubt  and  care, 

And  thou  and  I  shall  part  no  more!" 
Loud  crowed  the  cock,  the  shadow  fled: 

No  more  of  Sandy  could  she  see, 
But  soft  the  passing  spirit  said, 

"Sweet  Mary,  weep  no  more  for  me!" 


LXV 

SOMEBODY 
(ROBERT  BURNS) 

MY  heart  is  sair — I  dare  na  tell — 
My  heart  is  sair  for  somebody; 
I  could  wake  a  winter  night 
For  the  sake  of  somebody. 
Oh-hon,  for  somebody! 
Oh-hey,  for  somebody! 
I  could  range  the  world  around, 
For  the  sake  o'  somebody! 
99 


COMIN'  THROUGH  THE  RYE 

Ye  powers  that  smile  on  virtuous  love, 

Oh,  sweetly  smile  on  somebody! 
Frae  ilka  danger  keep  him  free, 
And  send  me  safe  my  somebody. 
Oh-hon,  for  somebody! 
Oh-hey,  for  somebody! 
I  wad  do — what  wad  I  not! 
For  the  sake  o'  somebody! 


LXVI 

COMIN'    THROUGH   THE   RYE 
(ROBERT  BURNS) 

GIN  a  body  meet  a  body 

Comin'  through  the  rye, 
Gin  a  body  kiss  a  body, 

Need  a  body  cry? 
Every  lassie  has  her  laddie, 

Nane,  they  say,  ha'e  I! 
Yet  a'  the  lads  they  smile  at  me, 

When  comin'  through  the  rye. 
Amang  the  train  there  is  a  swain 

I  dearly  lo'e  mysel' ; 

But  whaur  his  hame,  or  what  his  name, 
I  dinna  care  to  tell. 
100 


THE  BONNIE  LASS  O'  WOODHOUSELEE 

Gin  a  body  meet  a  body, 

Comin  frae  the  town, 
Gin  a  body  greet  a  body, 

Need  a  body  frown? 
Every  lassie  has  her  laddie, 

Nane,  they  say,  ha'e  I! 
Yet  a'  the  lads  they  smile  at  me, 

When  comin'  through  the  rye. 
Amang  the  train  there  is  a  swain, 

I  dearly  lo'e  myseP ; 

But  whaur  his  hame,  or  what  his  name, 
I  dinna  care  to  tell. 


LXVII 

THE    BONNIE    LASS    O'    WOODHOUSE- 
LEE 

(ROBERT  ALLAN) 

* 

THE  sun  blinks  sweetly  on  yon  shaw, 

But  sweeter  far  on  Woodhouselee, 
And  dear  I  like  his  setting  beam 

For  sake  o'  ane  sae  dear  to  me. 
It  was  nae  simmer's  fairy  scenes, 

In  a'  their  charming  luxury, 
But  Beauty's  seP  that  won  my  heart, 

The  bonnie  lass  o'  Woodhouselee. 
101 


THE  BONNIE  LASS  O'  WOODHOUSELEE 

Sae  winnin'  was  her  witchin'  smile, 

Sae  piercin'  was  her  coal-black  e'e, 
Sae  sarely  wounded  was  my  heart, 

That  had  na  wish  sic  ills  to  dree; 
In  vain  I  strave  in  beauty's  chains, 

I  cou'd  na  keep  my  fancy  free, 
She  gat  my  heart  sae  in  her  thrall, 

The  bonnie  lass  o'  Woodhouselee. 

The  bonnie  knowes,  sae  yellow  a', 

Where  aft  is  heard  the  hum  of  bee, 
The  meadow  green,  and  breezy  hill, 

Where  lambkins  sport  sae  merrilie, 
May  charm  the  weary,  wand'rin'  swain, 

When  e'enin'  sun  dips  in  the  sea, 
But  a'  my  heart,  baith  e'en  and  morn, 

Is  wi'  the  lass  o'  Woodhouselee. 

The  flowers  that  kiss  the  wimplin'  burn, 

And  dew-clad  gowans  on  the  lea, 
The  water-lily  on  the  lake, 

Are  but  sweet  emblems  a'  of  thee ; 
And  while  in  summer  smiles  they  bloom, 

Sae  lovely,  and  sae  fair  to  see, 
I'll  woo  their  sweets,  e'en  for  thy  sake, 

The  bonnie  lass  o'  Woodhouselee. 


102 


GANG  TO  THE  BRAKENS  WI'  ME 

LXVIII 

GANG   TO   THE   BRAKENS  WI'   ME 

(JAMES  HOGG) 

I'LL  sing  of  yon  glen  of  red  heather, 

An'  a  dear  thing  that  ca's  it  her  hame, 
Wha's  a'  made  o'  love-life  thegether, 

Frae  the  tie  o'  the  shoe  to  the  kaime. 
Love  beckons  in  every  sweet  motion, 

Commanding  due  homage  to  gi'e; 
But  the  shrine  o'  my  dearest  devotion 

Is  the  bend  o'  her  bonny  e'ebree. 

I  fleech'd  an'  I  pray'd  the  dear  lassie 

To  gang  to  the  brakens  wi'  me; 
But  though  neither  lordly  nor  saucy, 

Her  answer  was — "Laith  wad  I  be! 
I  neither  ha'e  father  nor  mither, 

Sage  counsel  or  caution  to  gi'e; 
An'  prudence  has  whispered  me  never 

To  gang  to  the  brakens  wi'  thee." 

"Dear  lassie,  how  can  you  upbraid  me, 
An'  try  your  own  love  to  beguile? 

For  ye  are  the  richest  young  lady 
That  ever  gaed  o'er  the  kirk-stile. 
103 


GANG  TO  THE  BRAKENS  WI'   ME 

Your  smile  that  is  blither  than  ony, 
The  bend  o'  your  cheerfu'  e'ebree, 

An'  the  sweet  blinks  o'  love  there  sae  bonny, 
Are  five  hunder  thousand  to  me!" 

She  turn'd  her  around  an'  said,  smiling, 

While  the  tear  in  her  blue  e'e  shone  clear, 
"You're  welcome,  kind  sir,  to  your  mailing, 

For,  O,  you  have  valued  it  dear: 
Gae  mak'  out  the  lease,  do  not  linger; 

Let  the  parson  indorse  the  decree, 
An'  then,  for  a  wave  of  your  finger, 

I'll  gang  to  the  brakens  wi'  thee!" 

i 

There's  joy  in  the  bright  blooming  features, 

When  love  lurks  in  every  young  line; 
There's  joy  in  the  beauties  of  nature, 

There's  joy  in  the  dance  and  the  wine: 
But  there's  a  delight  will  ne'er  perish, 

'Mang  pleasures  all  fleeting  and  vain, 
And  that  is  to  love  and  to  cherish 

The  fond  little  heart  that's  our  ain! 


104 


THOU   HAST  LEFT  ME  EVER,  JAMIE 


LXIX 

THOU  HAST  LEFT  ME  EVER,  JAMIE 

(ROBERT  BURNS) 

THOU  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie, 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever; 
Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie, 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever. 

Aften  hast  thou  vow'd  that  death 

Only  should  us  sever; 
Now  thou'st  left  thy  lass  for  aye 

I  maun  see  thee  never,  Jamie, 

I'll  see  thee  never. 

Thou  hast  me  forsaken,  Jamie, 

Thou  hast  me  forsaken, 
Thou  hast  me  forsaken,  Jamie, 

Thou  hast  me  forsaken. 

Thou  canst  love  anither,  jo, 
While  my  heart  is  breaking; 

Soon  my  weary  een  I'll  close, 
Never  mair  to  waken,  Jamie, 
Never  mair  to  waken. 

105 


OH!   DEAR  WERE  THE  JOYS 

LXX 
OH!   DEAR   WERE   THE   JOYS 

(JOHN  FINLAY) 

OH!  dear  were  the  joys  that  are  past! 
Oh!  dear  were  the  joys  that  are  past; 
Inconstant  thou  art,  as  the  dew  of  the  morn, 
Or  a  cloud  of  the  night  on  the  blast ! 

How  dear  was  the  breath  of  the  eve, 
When  bearing  thy  fond  faithless  sigh! 
And  the  moonbeam  how  dear  that  betray'd 
The  love  that  illumined  thine  eye! 

Thou  vow'dst  in  my  arms  to  be  mine, 
Thou  swar'st  by  the  moon's  sacred  light; 
But  dark  roll'd  a  cloud  o'er  the  sky, 
It  hid  the  pale  queen  of  the  night. 

Thou  hast  broken  thy  plighted  faith, 
And  broken  a  fond  lover's  heart; 
Yes!  in  winter  the  moon's  fleeting  ray 
I  would  trust  more  than  thee  and  thy  art! 

I  am  wretched  to  think  on  the  past — 
Even  hope  now  my  peace  cannot  save! 
Thou  hast  given  to  my  rival  thy  hand, 
But  me  thou  hast  doom'd  to  my  grave. 
106 


BONNIE  MARY  HALLIDAY 

LXXI 

BONNIE   MARY    HALLIDAY 
(ALLAN  CUNNINGHAM) 

BONNIE  Mary  Halliday, 

Turn  again,  I  call  you; 
If  you  go  to  the  dewy  wood, 

Sorrow  will  befall  you. 

The  ring-dove  from  the  dewy  wood 
Is  wailing  sore  and  calling; 

An'  Annan  water,  'tween  its  banks, 
Is  foaming  far  and  falling. 

Gentle  Mary  Halliday, 

Come,  my  bonnie  lady — 
Upon  the  river's  woody  bank 

My  steed  is  saddled  ready. 

And  for  thy  haughty  kinsman's  threats 
My  faith  shall  never  falter — 

The  bridal  banquet's  ready  made, 
The  priest  is  at  the  altar. 

Gentle  Mary  Halliday, 
The  towers  of  merry  Preston 

Have  bridal  candles  gleaming  bright — 
So  busk  thee,  love,  and  hasten. 
107 


BONNIE  MARY  HALLIDAY 

Come  busk  thee,  love,  and  bowne  thee 
Through  Tindal  and  green  Mouswal; 

Come,  be  the  grace  and  be  the  charm 
To  the  proud  Towers  of  Mochusel. 

Bonnie  Mary  Halliday, 

Turn  again,  I  tell  you; 
For  wit,  and  grace,  and  loveliness, 

What  maidens  may  excel  you? 

Though  Annan  has  its  beauteous  dames, 
And  Corrie  many  a  fair  one, 

We  canna  want  thee  from  our  sight, 
Thou  lovely  and  thou  rare  one 

Bonnie  Mary  Halliday, 
When  the  cittern's  sounding, 

We'll  miss  thy  lightsome  lily  foot 
Amang  the  blythe  lads  bounding. 

The  summer  sun  shall  freeze  our  veins, 
The  winter  moon  shall  warm  us, 

Ere  the  like  of  thee  shall  come  again 
To  cheer  us  and  to  charm  us. 


108 


FAREWELL  TO  BONNIE  TEVIOTDALE 

LXXII 
FAREWELL   TO   BONNIE    TEVIOTDALE 


OUR  native  land,  our  native  vale, 

A  long,  a  last  adieu; 
Farewell  to  bonnie  Teviotdale, 

And  Cheviot's  mountains  blue! 

Farewell,  ye  hills  of  glorious  deeds, 

Ye  streams  renown'd  in  song; 
Farewell,  ye  braes  and  blossom'd  meads 
Our  hearts  have  loved  so  long! 

Farewell  the  blythesome  broomy  knowes 
Where  thyme  and  harebells  grow; 

Farewell  the  hoary  haunted  hows 
O'erhung  with  birk  and  sloe! 

The  mossy  cave  and  mouldering  tower 

That  skirt  our  native  dell, 
The  martyr's  grave  and  lover's  bower 

We  bid  a  sad  farewell! 

Home  of  our  love,  our  fathers'  home, 

Land  of  the  brave  and  free, 
The  sail  is  flapping  on  the  foam 

That  bears  us  far  from  thee! 

109 


THE  EVENING  STAR 

We  seek  a  wild  and  distant  shore 
Beyond  the  western  main; 

We  leave  thee  to  return  no  more, 
Nor  view  thy  cliffs  again! 

Our  native  land,  our  native  vale, 

A  long,  a  last  adieu; 
Farewell  to  bonnie  Teviotdale 

And  Scotland's  mountains  blue! 


LXXIII 
THE   EVENING   STAR 

(DR.  JOHN  LEYDEN) 

How  sweet  thy  modest  light  to  view, 
Fair  star!  to  love  and  lovers  dear; 

While  trembling  on  the  falling  dew, 
Like  beauty  shining  through  the  tear; 

Or  hanging  o'er  that  mirror-stream 
To  mark  each  image  trembling  there, 

Thou  seem'st  to  smile  with  softer  gleam 
To  see  thy  lovely  face  so  fair. 

Though,  blazing  o'er  the  arch  of  night, 
The  moon  thy  timid  beams  outshine 

As  far  as  thine  each  starry  light — 
Her  rays  can  never  vie  with  thine. 

110 


THE  BONNIE  WEE  THING 

Thine  are  the  soft  enchanting  hours 
When  twilight  lingers  on  the  plain, 

And  whispers  to  the  closing  flow'rs, 
That  soon  the  sun  will  rise  again. 

Thine  is  the  breeze  that,  murmuring  bland 
As  music,  wafts  the  lover's  sigh; 

And  bids  the  yielding  heart  expand 
In  love's  delicious  ecstasy. 

Fair  star!  though  I  be  doom'd  to  prove 
That  rapture's  tears  are  mix'd  with  pain; 

Ah!  still  I  feel  'tis  sweet  to  love — 
But  sweeter  to  be  loved  again. 


LXXIV 

THE   BONNIE   WEE   THING 
(ROBERT  BURNS) 

BONNIE  wee  thing,  cannie  wee  thing, 

Lovely  wee  thing,  wert  thou  mine; 
I  wad  wear  thee  in  my  bosom, 

Lest  my  jewel  I  should  tine! 
Wishfully  I  look  an'  languish 

In  that  bonnie  face  of  thine ; 
An'  my  heart  it  stounds  wi'  anguish, 

Lest  my  wee  thing  be  na  mine, 
ill 


ON  THE  WILD  BRAES  OF  CALDER 

Wit,  an'  grace,  an'  love,  an'  beauty, 

In  ae  constellation  shine; 
To  adore  thee  is  my  duty, 

Goddess  o'  this  soul  o'  mine! 
Bonnie  wee  thing,  cannie  wee  thing, 

Lovely  wee  thing,  wert  thou  mine, 
I  wad  wear  thee  in  my  bosom, 

Lest  my  jewel  I  should  tine! 


LXXY 

ON  THE  WILD  BRAES  OF  CALDER 

(JOHN  ST&UTHERS) 

ON  the  wild  braes  of  C  alder,  I  found  a  fair 

lily, 
All  drooping  with  dew  in  the  breath  of  the 

morn, 

A  lily  more  fair  never  bloom'd  in  the  valley, 

Nor  rose,  the  gay  garden  of  art  to  adorn. 

Sweet,    sweet    was    the   fragrance   this   lily 

diffused, 
As    blushing,    all   lonely,    it   rose   on   the 

view, 

But  scanty  its  shelter,  to  reptiles  exposed, 
And  every  chill  blast  from  the  cold  north 
that  blew. 

112 


MY  AIN   KIND   DEARIE,   O 

Beneath  yon  green  hill,  a  small  field  I  had 

planted, 
Where  the  light  leafy  hazel  hangs  over  the 

burn; 
And  a  flower  such  as  this,  to  complete  it, 

was  wanted, 
A  flower  that  might  mark  the  gay  season's 

return. 
Straight  home  to  adorn  it,  I  bore  this  fair 

lily, 
Where,    at   morn,    and   at    even,    I    have 

watch'd  it  with  care; 

And  blossoming  still,  it  is  queen  of  the  valley, 
The  glory  of  spring,  and  the  pride  of  the 

year. 

LXXVI 
MY   AIN    KIND   DEARIE,    O 

(ROBERT  BURNS) 

WHEN  o'er  the  hills  the  eastern  star 

Tells  bughtin'  time  is  near,  my  jo; 
An'  owsen  frae  the  furrow' d  field 

Return  sae  dowf  an'  weary,  O ; 
Down  by  the  burn,  where  sented  birks 

W7i'  dew  are  hanging  clear,  my  jo, 
I'll  meet  thee  on  the  lea  rig, 

My  ain  kind  dearie,  O. 

8  113 


ADIEU   FOR  EVERMORE 

In  mirkest  glen,  at  midnight  hour, 

I'd  rove,  an'  ne'er  be  earie,  O, 
If  thro'  that  glen  I  ga'ed  to  thee, 

My  ain  kind  dearie,  O. 
Altho'  the  night  was  ne'er  sae  wild, 

An'  I  were  ne'er  sae  wearie,  O, 
I'd  meet  thee  on  the  lea  rig, 

My  ain  kind  dearie,  O. 

The  hunter  lo'es  the  morning  sun, 

To  rouse  the  mountain  deer,  my  jo: 
At  noon  the  fisher  seeks  the  glen, 

Along  the  burn  to  steer,  my  jo; 
Gi'e  me  the  hour  o'  gloamin'  gray, 

It  mak's  my  heart  sae  cheery,  O, 
To  meet  thee  on  the  lea  rig, 

My  ain  kind  dearie,  O. 


LXXYII 

ADIEU   FOR   EVERMORE 
(ANONYMOUS) 

IT  was  a'  for  our  richtfu'  king 

We  left  fair  Scotland's  strand; 
It  was  a'  for  our  richtfu'  king 
We  e'er  saw  Irish  land,  my  dear, 
We  e'er  saw  Irish  land. 
114 


ADIEU   FOR  EVERMORE 

Now  a'  is  done  that  men  can  do, 

And  a'  is  done  in  vain: 
My  love,  my  native  land,  farewell; 

For  I  maun  cross  the  main,  my  dear, 
For  I  maun  cross  the  main. 

He  turn'd  him  richt  and  round  about 

Upon  the  Irish  shore, 
And  ga'e  his  bridle-reins  a  shake, 

With,  Adieu  for  evermore,  my  love, 
With,  Adieu  for  evermore. 

The  sodger  frae  the  war  returns, 

The  sailor  frae  the  main; 
But  I  hae  parted  frae  my  love, 

Never  to  meet  again,  my  love, 
Never  to  meet  again. 

When  day  is  gane,  and  nicht  is  come, 

And  a'  folk  bound  to  sleep, 
I  think  on  him  that's  far  awa' 

The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep,  my  dear, 
The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep. 


115 


QUEEN   MARY'S  LAMENT 

LXXVIII 

QUEEN   MARY'S   LAMENT 
(ROBERT  BURNS) 

Now  Nature  hangs  her  mantle  green 

On  ilka  blooming  tree, 
And  spreads  her  sheets  o'  daisies  white 

Out  ower  the  grassy  lea. 

Now  Phoebus  cheers  the  crystal  streams, 

And  glads  the  azure  skies, 
But  nocht  can  glad  the  weary  wicht 

That  fast  in  durance  lies. 

Now  blooms  the  lily  by  the  bank, 

The  primrose  doun  the  brae; 
The  hawthorn's  budding  in  the  glen, 

And  milk-white  is  the  slae. 

Now  laverocks  wake  the  merry  morn 

Aloft  on  dewy  wing, 
The  merle  in  his  noontide  bower 

Makes  woodland  echoes  ring. 

The  mavis  wild,  wi'  mony  a  note, 

Sings  drowsy  day  to  rest; 
In  love  and  freedom  they  rejoice, 

Wi'  care  nor  thrall  oppress'd. 
116 


QUEEN  MARY'S  LAMENT 

The  meanest  hind  in  fair  Scotland 
May  rove  these  sweets  amang; 

But  I,  the  queen  o'  a'  Scotland, 
Maun  lie  in  prison  strang. 

I  was  the  queen  o'  bonnie  France, 

Where  happy  I  ha'e  been; 
Fu'  lightly  rase  I  in  the  morn, 

As  blythe  lay  down  at  e'en. 

And  I'm  the  sovereign  of  Scotland, 

And  mony  a  traitor  there; 
Yet  here  I  lie  in  foreign  bands 

And  never-ending  care. 

But  as  for  thee,  thou  false  woman, 

My  sister  and  my  fae, 
Grim  vengeance  yet  shall  whet  a  sword 

That  through  thy  soul  shall  gae. 

The  weeping  blood  in  woman's  breast 

Was  never  known  to  thee, 
Nor   the    balm    that  draps  on   wounds 
of  woe 

From  woman's  pitying  e'e. 

My  son,  my  son,  may  kinder  stars 

Upon  thy  fortune  shine; 
And  may  those  pleasures  gild  thy  reign 

That  ne'er  would  blink  on  mine! 
117 


THE  LASS  O'  ARRANTEENIE 

God  keep  thee  frae  thy  mother's  faes, 

Or  turn  their  hearts  to  thee; 
And  where  thou  meet'st  thy  mother's  friend, 

Remember  him  for  me. 

Oh,  soon  to  me  may  summer  sun 

Nae  mair  licht  up  the  morn; 
Nae  mair  to  me  the  autumn  winds 

Wave  o'er  the  yellow  corn! 

And  in  the  narrow  house  o'  death 

Let  winter  round  me  rave, 
And  the  next  flowers  that  deck  the  spring 

Bloom  on  my  peaceful  grave. 


LXXIX 

THE   LASS   O'   ARRANTEENIE 
(ROBERT  TANNAHILL) 

FAR  lone  amang  the  Highland  hills, 

'Midst  nature's  wildest  grandeur, 
By  rocky  dens  and  woody  glens, 

With  weary  steps  I  wander. 
The  langsome  way,  the  darksome  day, 

The  mountain  mist  sae  rainy, 
Are  naught  to  me  when  gaun  to  thee, 

Sweet  lass  o'  Arranteenie. 

118 


THE  BLOOM   HATH   FLED 

Yon  mossy  rosebud  down  the  how 

Just  opening  fresh  and  bonny, 
It  blinks  beneath  the  hazel  bough, 

And's  scarcely  seen  by  ony. 
Sae  sweet  amidst  her  native  hills 

Obscurely  blooms  my  Jeanie, 
Mair  fair  and  gay  than  rosy  May, 

The  flower  o'  Arranteenie. 

Now  from  the  mountain's  lofty  brow 

I  view  the  distant  ocean; 

There  avarice  guides  the  bounding  prow, 

Ambition  courts  promotion. 
Let  Fortune  pour  her  golden  store, 

Her  laurell'd  favours  many, 
Give  me  but  this,  my  soul's  first  wish, 

The  lass  o'  Arranteenie. 


LXXX 

THE   BLOOM   HATH   FLED 
(WILLIAM  MOTHERWELL) 

THE  bloom  hath*  fled  thy  cheek,  Mary, 

As  spring's  rath  blossoms  die, 
And  sadness  hath  o'ershadow'd  now 

Thy  once  bright  eye; 
But,  look  on  me,  the  prints  of  grief 
Still  deeper  lie. 
Farewell ! 

119 


THE  BLOOM  HATH   FLED 

Thy  lips  are  pale  and  mute,  Mary, 

Thy  step  is  sad  and  slow, 
The  morn  of  gladness  hath  gone  by 

Thou  erst  did  know; 
I,  too,  am  changed  like  thee,  and  weep 

For  very  woe. 
Farewell ! 

It  seems  as  'twere  but  yesterday 

We  were  the  happiest  twain, 
When  murmur 'd  sighs  and  joyous  tears, 

Dropping  like  rain, 
Discoursed  my  love,  and  told  how  loved 

I  was  again. 
Farewell ! 

'Twas  not  in  cold  and  measur'd  phrase 

We  gave  our  passion  name: 
Scorning  such  tedious  eloquence, 

Our  heart's  fond  flame 
And  long  imprisoned  feelings  fast 

In  deep  sobs  came. 
Farewell ! 

Would  that  our  love  had  been  the  love 

That  merest  worldlings  know, 
When  passion's  draught  to  our  doom'd  lips 

Turns  utter  woe, 
And  our  poor  dream  of  happiness 

Vanishes  so! 
Farewell ! 

120 


MARY  OF  ARGYLE 

But  in  the  wreck  of  all  our  hopes, 
There's  yet  some  touch  of  bliss, 

Since  fate  robs  not  our  wretchedness 
Of  this  last  kiss : 

Despair,  and  love,  and  madness,  meet 
In  this,  in  this. 
Farewell ! 

LXXXI 

MARY   OF   ARGYLE 
(c.  JEFFREYS) 

I  HAVE  heard  the  mavis  singing 

His  love  song  to  the  morn, 
I  have  seen  the  dewdrop  clinging 

To  the  rose  just  newly  born; 
But  a  sweeter  song  has  cheered  me, 

At  the  evening's  gentle  close, 
And  I've  seen  an  eye  still  brighter 

Than  the  dewdrop  on  the  rose; 
'Twas  thy  voice,  my  gentle  Mary, 

And  thine  artless,  winning  smile, 
That  made  this  world  an  Eden, 

Bonnie  Mary  of  Argyle ! 

Tho'  thy  voice  may  lose  its  sweetness, 
And  thine  eye  its  brightness  too, 

Tho'  thy  step  may  lack  its  fleetness, 
And  thy  hair  its  sunny  hue; 
121 


TO  THINK  O'  THEE 

Still  to  me  wilt  them  be  dearer 

Than  all  the  world  can  own, 
I  have  loved  thee  for  thy  beauty, 

But  not  for  that  alone ; 
I  have  watch' d  thy  heart,  dear  Mary, 

And  its  goodness  was  the  wile, 
That  has  made  thee  mine  forever, 

Bonnie  Mary  of  Argyle. 


LXXXII 

TO   THINK   O'   THEE 
(JOHN  BURTT) 

O  LASSIE  I  lo'e  dearest, 
Mair  fair  to  me  than  fairest, 
Mair  rare  to  me  than  rarest; 

How  sweet  to  think  o'  thee! 
When  blythe  the  blue  e'ed  dawnin' 
Steals  saftly  o'er  the  lawnin', 
And  furls  night's  sable  awnin', 

I  love  to  think  o'  thee. 

An'  while  the  honied  dew-drap 
Still  trembles  at  the  flower-tap, 
The  fairest  bud  I  pu't  up, 
An'  kiss't  for  sake  o'  thee; 
122 


TO  THINK  O'  THEE 

An'  when  by  stream,  or  fountain, 
In  glen,  or  on  the  mountain, 
The  lingering  moments  countin', 
I  pause  an'  think  o'  thee. 

When  the  sun's  red-rays  are  streamin', 
Warm  on  the  meadow  beamin', 
Or  o'er  the  loch  wild  gleamin', 

My  heart  is  fu'  o'  thee. 
An'  tardy-footed  gloamin', 
Out  o'er  the  hills  slow  comin', 
Still  finds  me  lanely  roamin', 

And  thinkin'  still  o'  thee. 

When  soughs  the  distant  billow, 
An'  night  blasts  shake  the  willow, 
Stretch' d  on  my  lanely  pillow 

My  dreams  are  a'  o'  thee. 
Then  think  when  frien's  caress  thee, 
O  think  when  cares  distress  thee, 
O  think  when  pleasures  bless  thee, 

O'  him  that  thinks  o'  thee! 


123 


I'LL  NEVER  LOVE  THEE  MORE 

LXXXIII 

I'LL   NEVER   LOVE   THEE   MORE 
(MARQUIS  OF  MONTROSE) 

MY  dear  and  only  love,  I  pray 

That  little  world  of  thee 
Be  govern'd  by  no  other  sway 

But  purest  monarchy; 
For  if  confusion  have  a  part, 

Which  virtuous  souls  abhor, 
I'll  call  a  synod  in  my  heart, 

And  never  love  thee  more. 

As  Alexander  I  will  reign, 

And  I  will  reign  alone; 
My  thoughts  did  evermore  disdain 

A  rival  on  my  throne. 
He  either  fears  his  fate  too  much, 

Or  his  deserts  are  small, 
Who  dares  not  put  it  to  the  touch 

To  gain  or  lose  it  all. 

But  I  will  reign  and  govern  still, 
And  always  give  the  law, 

And  have  each  subject  at  my  will, 
And  all  to  stand  in  awe: 
124 


I'LL  NEVER  LOVE  THEE  MORE 

But  'gainst  my  batteries  if  I  find 
Thou  storm  or  vex  me  sore, 

As  if  thou  set  me  as  a  blind, 
I'll  never  love  thee  more. 

And  in  the  empire  of  thy  heart, 

Where  I  should  solely  be, 
If  others  do  pretend  a  part, 

Or  dare  to  share  with  me; 
Or  committees  if  thou  erect, 

Or  go  on  such  a  score, 
I'll  smiling  mock  at  thy  neglect, 

And  never  love  thee  more. 

But  if  no  faithless  action  stain 

Thy  love  and  constant  word, 
I'll  make  thee  famous  by  my  pen, 

And  glorious  by  my  sword; 
I'll  serve  thee  in  such  noble  ways 

As  ne'er  was  known  before; 
I'll   deck    and  crown    thy    head    with 
bays, 

And  love  thee  evermore. 


125 


IT  WAS  AN   ENGLISH   LADYE  BRIGHT 
LXXXIV 

IT  WAS   AN   ENGLISH   LADYE   BRIGHT 

(SIR    WALTER    SCOTT) 

IT  was  an  English  ladye  bright 
(The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall), 

And  she  would  marry  a  Scottish  knight, 
For  Love  will  still  be  lord  of  all. 

Blythely  they  saw  the  rising  sun, 
When  he  shone  fair  on  Carlisle  wall; 

But  they  were  sad  ere  day  was  done, 
Though  Love  was  still  the  lord  of  all. 

Her  sire  gave  brooch  and  jewel  fine, 
Where  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall ; 

Her  brother  gave  but  a  flask  of  wine, 
For  ire  that  Love  was  lord  of  all. 

For  she  had  lands,  both  meadow  and  lea, 
Where  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall, 

And  he  swore  her  death,  ere  he  would  see 
A  Scottish  knight  the  lord  of  all ! 

That  wine  she  had  not  tasted  well 
(The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall), 

When  dead  in  her  true  love's  arms  she  fell, 
For  Love  was  still  the  lord  of  all ! 
126 


THE  MAID  OF  ISLAY 

He  pierced  her  brother  to  the  heart, 
Where  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall ; 

So  perish  all  would  true  love  part, 
That  Love  may  still  be  lord  of  all ! 

And  then  he  took  the  cross  divine 
(Where   the   sun   shines    fair    on    Carlisle 
wall), 

And  died  for  her  sake  in  Palestine, 
So  Love  was  still  the  lord  of  all. 

Now  all  ye  lovers,  that  faithful  prove 
(The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall), 

Pray  for  their  souls  who  died  for  love, 
For  Love  shall  still  be  lord  of  all ! 


LXXXV 

THE   MAID   OF   ISLAY 
(REV.  WILLIAM  DUNBAR) 

RISING  o'er  the  heaving  billow, 

Evening  gilds  the  ocean's  swell, 
While  with  thee  on  grassy  pillow, 

Solitude!  I  love  to  dwell. 
Lonely  to  the  sea  breeze  blowing 

Oft  I  chaunt  my  love-lorn  strain, 
To  the  streamlet  sweetly  flowing 

Murmur  oft  a  lover's  pain. 
127 


THE   HEATH  THIS  NIGHT  MUST  BE  MY  BED 

'Twas  for  her,  the  Maid  of  Islay, 

Time  flew  o'er  me  wing'd  with  joy; 
'Twas  for  her  the  cheering  smile  aye 

Beam'd  with  rapture  in  my  eye. 
Not  the  tempest  raving  round  me, 

Lightning's  flash  or  thunder's  roll, 
Not  the  ocean's  rage  could  wound  me, 

While  her  image  filled  my  soul. 

Farewell,  days  of  purest  pleasure, 

Long  your  loss  my  heart  shall  mourn! 
Farewell,  hours  of  bliss  the  measure, 

Bliss  that  never  can  return. 
Cheerless  o'er  the  wild  heath  wandering, 

Cheerless  o'er  the  wave-worn  shore, 
On  the  past  with  sadness  pondering, 

Hope's  fair  visions  charm  no  more. 


LXXXVI 

THE   HEATH    THIS    NIGHT    MUST    BE 
MY   BED 

(SIR    WALTER    SCOTT) 

THE  heath  this  night  must  be  my  bed, 
The  bracken  curtain  for  my  head, 
My  lullaby  the  warder's  tread, 
Far,  far  from  love  and  thee,  Mary! 

128 


THE  HEATH  THIS  NIGHT  MUST  BE  MY  BED 

To-morrow  eve,  more  stilly  laid, 
My  couch  may  be  my  bloody  plaid, 
My  vesper  song  thy  wail,  sweet  maid! 
It  will  not  waken  me,  Mary! 

I  may  not,  dare  not,  fancy  now 
The  grief  that  clouds  thy  lovely  brow, 
I  dare  not  think  upon  thy  vow, 
And  all  it  promised  me,  Mary. 

No  fond  regrets  must  Norman  know; 
When  bursts  Clan-Alpine  on  the  foe, 
His  heart  must  be  like  bended  bow, 
His  foot  like  arrow  free,  Mary. 

A  time  will  come  with  feeling  fraught, 
For  if  I  fall  in  battle  fought, 
Thy  hapless  lover's  dying  thought 
Shall  be  a  thought  on  thee,  Mary. 

And  if  return'd  from  conquer' d  foes, 
How  blythely  will  the  evening  close, 
How  sweet  the  linnet  sing  repose 
To  my  young  bride  and  me,  Mary! 


129 


HUNTINGTOWER 

LXXXVII 
HUNTINGTOWER 

(LADY  NAIRNE) 

"WHEN  ye  gang  awa',  Jamie, 
When  ye  gang  awa',  laddie, 
What  will  ye  gi'e  my  heart  to  cheer, 
When  ye  are  far  awa',  Jamie?" 

"I'll  gi'e  ye  a  braw  new  gown,  Jeanie, 
I'll  gi'e  ye  a  braw  new  gown,  lassie, 
An'  it  will  be  a  silken  ane, 
Wi'   Valenciennes    trimni'd    round,  Jeanie." 

"O,  that's  nae  luve  at  a',  laddie, 
That's  nae  luve,  at  a',  Jamie, 
How  could  I  bear  braw  gowns  to  wear, 
When  ye  are  far  awa',  laddie? 

"But  mind  me  when  awa',  Jamie, 
Mind  me  when  awa,  laddie, 
For  out  o'  sicht  is  out  o'  mind 
Wi'  mony  folk  we  ken,  Jamie." 

"Oh,  that  can  never  be,  Jeanie, 
Forgot  ye  ne'er  can  be,  lassie; 
Oh,  gang  wi'  me  to  the  north  countrie, 
My  bonnie  bride  to  be,  Jeanie. 

130 


HUNTINGTOWER 

"The  Hills  are  grand  and  hie,  Jeanie, 

The  burnies  runnin'  clear,  lassie, 

'Mang  birks   and  braes,  where  wild  deer 

stray 
Oh,  come  wi'  me,  and  see,  lassie." 

"I  winna  gang  wi'  thee,  laddie, 
I  tell'd  ye  sae  afore,  Jamie; 
Till  free  consent  my  parents  gi'e. 
I  canna  gang  wi'  thee,  Jamie." 

"But  when  ye' re  wed  to  me,  Jeanie, 
Then  they  will  forgi'e,  lassie; 
How  can  ye  be  sae  cauld  to  me, 
Wha's  lo'ed  ye  weel  and  lang,  lassie." 

"No  sae  lang  as  them,  laddie, 
No  sae  lang  as  them,   Jamie; 
A  grief  to  them  I  wadna  be, 
No  for  the  Duke  himsel',  Jamie. 

"We'll  save  our  penny  free,  laddie, 
To  keep  frae  poortith  free,  Jamie; 
An'  then  their  blessing  they  will  gi'e 
Baith  to  you  and  me,  Jamie." 

"Huntingtower  is  mine,  lassie, 
Huntingtower  is  mine,  Jeanie; 
Huntingtower  an'  Blairnagower, 
An'  a'  that's  mine  is  thine,  Jeanie!" 
131 


SLIGHTED   LOVE 

LXXXVIII 

SLIGHTED    LOVE 
(ALEXANDER 


THE  rosebud  blushing  to  the  morn, 

The  snaw-white  flower  that  scents  the  thorn, 

When  on  thy  gentle  bosom  worn, 

Were  ne'er  sae  fair  as  thee,  Mary! 
How  blest  was  I,  a  little  while, 
To  deem  that  bosom  free  frae  guile; 
When,  fondly  sighing,  thou  wouldst  smile; 

Yes,  sweetly  smile  on  me,  Mary! 

Though  gear  was  scant,  an'  friends  were  few, 
My  heart  was  leal,  my  love  was  true; 
I  blest  your  e'en  of  heavenly  blue, 

That  glanced  sae  saft  on  me,  Mary! 
But  wealth  has  won  your  heart  frae  me; 
Yet  I  maun  ever  think  of  thee  ; 
May  a'  the  bliss  that  gowd  can  gi'e, 

For  ever  wait  on  thee,  Mary! 

For  me,  nae  mair  on  earth  I  crave, 
But  that  yon  dripping  willow  wave 
Its  branches  o'er  my  early  grave, 
Forgot  by  love,  an'  thee,  Mary! 

132 


THE  MOON  WAS  A-WANING 

An'  when  that  hallow'd  spot  you  tread, 
Where  wild-flowers  bloom  above  my  head, 
Oh  look  not  on  my  grassy  bed, 
Lest  thou  shouldst  sigh  for  me,  Mary! 


LXXXIX 
THE  MOON   WAS   A-WANING 

(JAMES  HOGG) 

THE  moon  was  a-waning, 

The  tempest  was  over; 
Fair  was  the  maiden, 

And  fond  was  the  lover; 
But  the  snow  was  so  deep, 

That  his  heart  it  grew  weary, 
And  he  sunk  down  to  sleep, 

In  the  moorland  so  dreary. 

Soft  was  the  bed 

She  had  made  for  her  lover, 
White  were  the  sheets 

And  embroider' d  the  cover; 
But  his  sheets  are  more  white, 

And  his  canopy  grander, 
And  sounder  he  sleeps 

Where  the  hill  foxes  wander. 
133 


THE  MOON   WAS  A-WANING 

Alas,  pretty  maiden, 

What  sorrows  attend  you! 
I  see  you  sit  shivering, 

With  lights  at  your  window; 
But  long  may  you  wait 

Ere  your  arms  shall  enclose  him, 
For  still,  still  he  lies, 

With  a  wreath  on  his  bosom! 

How  painful  the  task, 

The  sad  tidings  to  tell  you! 
An  orphan  you  were 

Ere  this  misery  befell  you; 
And  far  in  yon  wild, 

Where  the  dead-tapers  hover, 
So  cold,  cold  and  wan 

Lies  the  corpse  of  your  lover! 


134 


BLAW  SAFTLY,  YE  BREEZES 

xc 

BLAW  SAFTLY,   YE   BREEZES 

(JAMES  NICOL) 

BLAW  saftly,  ye  breezes,  ye  streams,  smoothly 

murmur, 
Ye    sweet-scented    blossoms,    deck    every 

green  tree; 
'Mong    your    wild    scatter' d    flow' rets    aft 

wanders  my  charmer, 
The  sweet  lovely  lass  wi'  the  black  rollin' 

e'e. 

But  round  me  let  nature  a  wilderness  seem, 
Blast   each  flow'ret  that  catches  the  sun's 

early  beam, 

For  pensive  I  ponder,  and  languishin'  wander, 
Far  frae  the  sweet  rosebud  on  Quair's  wind- 
in'  stream! 

Why,  Heaven,  wring  my  heart  wi'  the  hard 

heart  o'  anguish? 
Why  torture  my  bosom  'tween  hope  and 

despair? 

When  absent  frae  Nancy,  I  ever  maun  lan- 
guish! 

That  dear  angel  smile,  shall  it  charm  me 
nae  mair? 

135 


RISE!   RISE!   LOWLAND  AND  HIGHLAND  MEN 

Since  here  life's  a  desert,    an'    pleasure's    a 

dream, 
Bear  me  swift  to  those  banks  which  are  ever 

my  theme, 
Where,    mild    as   the    mornin'    at    simmer's 

retttrnin', 
Blooms  the  sweet  lovely  rosebud  on  Quair's 

windin'  stream. 


XCI 

RISE!     RISE!     LOWLAND     AND     HIGH- 
LAND   MEN 

(JAMES  HOGG) 

RISE!  rise!    Lowland  and  Highland  men; 
Bald  sire  and  beardless  son,  each  come,  and 

early : 

Rise!  rise!  mainland  and  island  men, 
Belt  on  your  broadswords  and  fight  for 

Prince  Charlie! 

Down  from  the  mountain  steep, 
Up  from  the  valley  deep, 
Out  from  the  clachen,  the  bothy,  and  shieling ; 
Bugle  and  battle-drum 
Bid  chief  and  vassal  come ; 
Loudly  on  bagpipes  the  pibroch  are  pealing. 
Rise!  rise!  etc. 

136 


RISE!  RISE!  LOWLAND  AND  HIGHLAND  MEN 

Men    of    the    mountains!     descendants    of 

heroes ! 
Heirs    of  the  fame  and  the  hills  of  your 

fathers — 

Say,  shall  the  Sassenach  southron  not  fear  us, 
When  fierce  to  the  war-peal  each  plaided 

clan  gathers? 

Long  on  the  trophied  -walls 
Of  our  ancestral  halls 

Rust  hath  been  blunting  the  armor  of  Albin : 
Seize,  then,  ye  mountain  Macs, 
Buckler  and  battle-axe, 
Lads   of  Lochaber,  Braemar,   and  Breadal- 

bine. 
Rise!  rise!  etc. 

When  hath  the  tartan  plaid  mantled  a  coward? 
When  did  the  bonnet  blue  crest   the   dis- 
loyal? 
Up,    then,    and   crowd   to   the  standard  of 

Stuart! 

Follow  your  hero,  the  rightful,  the  royal. 
Come,  Chief  of  Clanronald, 
And  gallant  M'Donald; 
Come  Lovat,  Lochiel,  with  the  Grant  and 

the  Gordon; 
Rouse  every  kilted  clan, 
Rouse  every  loyal  man; 
Musket  on  shoulder,  and  thigh  the  broad- 
sword on! 

137 


MISCHIEVOUS  WOMAN 

Rise!  rise!    Lowland  and  Highland  men, 
Bald  sire  and  beardless  son,  each  come,  and 

early ; 

Rise!  rise!  mainland  and  island  men, 
Belt  on  your  broadswords  and  fight  for 
Prince  Charlie! 


XCII 
MISCHIEVOUS   WOMAN 

(JAMES  HOGG) 

COULD  this  ill  warld  ha'e  been  contrived 

To  stand  without  mischievous  woman, 
How  peacefu'  bodies  might  ha'e  lived 

Retired  from  a'  the  ills  sae  common! 
But  since  it  is  the  waefu'  case 

That  man  maun  ha'e  this  crazing  crony; 
Why  sic  a  sweet  bewitching  face? 

Oh,  had  she  no  been  made  sae  bonny! 

I  might  ha'e  roam'd  wi'  cheerfu'  mind, 

Nae  sin  or  sorrow  to  betide  me, 
As  careless  as  the  wandering  wind, 

As  happy  as  the  lamb  beside  me. 
I  might  ha'e  screw'd  my  tunefu'  pegs, 

And  caroll'd  mountain  airs  fu'  gaily, 
Had  we  but  wanted  a'  the  Megs 

Wi'  glossy  e'en  sae  dark  and  wily. 
138 


SOLDIER,    REST!    THY  WARFARE  O'ER 

I  saw  the  danger,  fear'd  the  dart, 

The  smile,  the  air,  an'  a'  sae  taking, 
Yet  open  laid  my  wareless  heart, 

And  gat  the  wound  that  keeps  me  waking. 
My  harp  waves  on  the  willow  green, 

O'  wild  witch-notes  it  has  nae  ony, 
Sin'  e'er  I  saw  that  gawky  queen, 

Sae  sweet,  sae  wicked,  an'  sae  bonny! 


XCIII 
SOLDIER,    REST!    THY   WARFARE  O'ER 

(SIR    WALTER    SCOTT,    BART.) 

Soldier,  rest! -thy  warfare  o'er, 

Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking; 
Dream  of  battled  fields  no  more, 

Days  of  danger,  nights  of  waking. 
In  our  isle's  enchanted  hall, 

Hands  unseen  thy  couch  are  strewing, 
Fairy  strains  of  music  fall, 

Every  sense  in  slumber  dewing. 
Soldier,  rest!  thy  warfare  o'er, 
Dream  of  fighting-fields  no  more ; 
Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking, 
Morn  of  toil,  nor  night  of  waking. 
139 


SOLDIER,   REST!    THY  WARFARE  O'ER 

No  rude  sound  shall  reach  thine  ear, 

Armour's  clang,  or  war-steed  champing; 
Trump  nor  pibroch  summon  here, 

Mustering  clan,  or  squadron  tramping. 
Yet  the  lark's  shrill  fife  may  come 

At  the  daybreak  from  the  fallow; 
And  the  bittern  sound  his  drum, 

Booming  from  the  sedgy  shallow. 
Ruder  sounds  shall  none  be  near, 
Guards  nor  warders  challenge  here; 
Here's  no  war-steed's  neigh  and  champing, 
Shouting  clans,  or  squadrons  stamping. 

Huntsman,  rest!  thy  chase  is  done, 
..While  our  slumbrous  spells  assail  ye, 
Dream  not,  with  the  rising  sun, 

Bugles  here  shall  sound  reveille. 
Sleep!  the  deer  is  in  his  den; 

Sleep!  thy  hounds  are  by  thee  lying; 
Sleep!  nor  dream  in  yonder  glen, 

How  thy  gallant  steed  lay  dying. 
Huntsman,  rest!  thy  chase  is  done, 
Think  not  of  the  rising  sun, 
For  at  dawning  to  assail  ye, 
Here  no  bugles  sound  reveille. 


140 


THE  LAIRD  O'  COCKPEN 

XCIV 
THE   LAIRD   O'    COCKPEN 

(LADY  NAIRNE) 

THE  Laird  o'   Cockpen  he's  proud  and  he's 

great, 
His  mind  is  ta'en  up  with  the  things  o'  the 

state ; 

He  wanted  a  wife  his  braw  house  to  keep, 
But  favor  wi'  wooin'  was  fashious  to  seek. 

Down  by  the  dyke-side  a  lady  did  dwell, 
At  his  table-head  he  thought  she'd  look  well ; 
M'Clish's  ae  daughter  o'  Claverse-ha'  Lee, 
A  penniless  lass  wi'  a  lang  pedigree. 

His  wig  was  weel  pouther'd  and  as  gude  as 

new; 

His  waistcoat  was  white,  his  coat  it  was  blue ; 
He  put  on  a  ring,  a  sword,  and  cock'd  hat, 
And  wha'  could  refuse  the  Laird  wi'  a'  that? 

He  took  the  grey  mare,  and  rade  cannily — 
And  rapp'd  at  the  yett  o'  Claverse-ha'  Lee; 
"Gae  tell  Mistress  Jean  to  come  speedily  ben, 
She's  wanted  to  speak  to  the  Laird  o'  Cock- 
pen." 

141 


THE  LAIRD  O'  COCKPEN 

Mistress   Jean  was  makin'  the  elder-flower 

wine, 

"And  what  brings  the  Laird  at  sic  a  like  time?" 
She  put  off  her  apron,  and  on  her  silk  gown, 
Her  mutch  wi'  red  ribbon,  and  gaed  awa' 

down. 

And  when  she  cam'  ben,  he  bowed  fu'  low, 
And  what  was  his  errand  he  soon  let  her 

know; 
Amazed  was  the  Laird  when  the  lady  said 

"Na"; 
And  wi'  a  laigh  curtsie  she  turned  awa'. 

Dumfounder'd  he  was,  nae  sigh  did  he  gi'e; 
He  mounted  his  mare — he  rade  cannily; 
And  aften  he  thought,  as  he  gaed  through 

the  glen, 
She's  daft  to  refuse  the  Laird  o'  Cockpen. 

And  now  that  the  Laird  his  exit  had  made, 
Mistress  Jean  she  reflected  on  what  she  had 

said; 
"Oh!  for  ane  I'll  get  better,  it's  waur  I'll 

get  ten, 
I  was  daft  to  refuse  the  Laird  o'  Cockpen." 

Next  time  that  the  Laird  and  the  Lady  were 

seen, 
They  were  gaun  arm-in-arm  to  the  kirk  on 

the  green; 

14,2 


OH,   BLAW,   YE  WESTLIN'  WINDS 

Now  she  sits  in  the  ha'  like  a  weel-tappit 

hen, 
But  as  yet  there's  nae  chickens  appear'd  at 

Cockpen, 


XCV 

OH,    BLAW,    YE   WESTLIN'    WINDS! 
(JOHN  HAMILTON) 

OH,  blaw,  ye  westlin'  winds,  blaw  saft 

Amang  the  leafy  trees! 
Wi'  gentle  gale,  frae  muir  and  dale, 

Bring  hame  the  laden  bees; 
And  bring  the  lassie  back  to  me, 

That's  aye  sae  neat  and  clean; 
Ae  blink  of  her  wad  banish  care, 

Sae  lovely  is  my  Jean. 

What  sighs  and  vows,  amang  the  knowes, 

Hae  pass'd  at  ween  us  twa! 
How  fain  to  meet,  how  wae  to  part, 

That  day  she  gaed  awa' ! 
The  Powers  aboon  can  only  ken, 

To  whom  the  heart  is  seen, 
That  name  can  be  sae  dear  to  me 

As  my  sweet,  lovely  Jean. 

143 


ROY'S  WIFE  OF  ALD1VALLOCH 


XCVI 
ROY'S  WIFE   OF   ALDIVALLOCH 

(MRS.  GRANT  OF  CARRON) 

ROY'S  wife  of  Aldivalloch, 

Roy's  wife  of  Aldivalloch, 

Wat  ye  how  she  cheated  me 

As  I  cam'  o'er  the  braes  of  Balloch? 

She  vow'd,  she  swore  she  wad  be  mine, 
She  said  she  lo'ed  me  best  o'  onie; 

But,  ah!  the  fickle,  faithless  quean, 
She's  ta'en  the  carl,  and  left  her  Johnnie. 
Roy's  wife,  etc. 

Oh,  she  was  a  canty  quean, 

An'  weel  could  dance  the  Hieland  walloch ! 
How  happy  I,  had  she  been  mine, 

Or  I  been  Roy  of  Aldivalloch ' 
Roy's  wife,  etc. 

Her  hair  sae  fair,  her  e'en  sae  clear, 

Her  wee  bit  mou'  sae  sweet  and  bonnie! 
To  me  she  ever  will  be  dear, 
Though  she's  for  ever  left  her  Johnnie. 
Roy's  wife,  etc. 
144 


OH,  MY  LOVE,   LEAVE  ME  NOT 

XCVII 

OH,   MY   LOVE,   LEAVE  ME   NOT 
(MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN) 

OH,  my  love,  leave  me  not! 
Oh,  my  love,  leave  me  not! 
Oh,  my  love,  leave  me  not! 
Lonely  and  weary. 

Could  you  but  stay  a  while, 
And  my  fond  fears  beguile, 
I  yet  once  more  could  smile, 
Lightsome  and  cheery. 

Night,  with  her  darkest  shroud, 
Tempests  that  roar  aloud, 
Thunders  that  burst  the  cloud, 

Why  should  I  fear  ye? 

* 

Till  the  sad  hour  we  part, 
Fear  cannot  make  me  start; 
Grief  cannot  break  my  heart 
Whilst  thou  art  near  me. 

Should  you  forsake  my  sight, 
Day  would  to  me  be  night; 
Sad  I  would  shun  its  light, 
Heartless  and  weary. 

10  145 


FAREWEEL,  O  FAREWEEL! 

XCVIII 

FAREWEEL,    O   FAREWEEL! 
(LADY  NAIRNE) 

FAREWEEL,  O  fareweel! 

My  heart  it  is  sair; 
Fareweel,  O  fareweel! 

I'll  see  him  nae  mair. 

Lang,  lang  was  he  mine, 
Lang,  lang — but  nae  mair; 

I  maunna  repine, 
But  my  heart  it  is  sair. 

His  staff's  at  the  wa', 
Toom,  toom  is  his  chair! 

His  bannet,  an'  a' ! 
An'  I  maun  be  here! 

But  oh!  he's  at  rest, 

Why  sud  I  complain? 
Gin  my  soul  be  blest, 
I'll  meet  him  again. 

Oh,  to  meet  him  again, 
Where  hearts  ne'er  were  sair! 

Oh,  to  meet  him  again, 
To  part  never  mair! 

146 


LORD  ULLIN'S  DAUGHTER 

XCIX 

LORD   ULLIN'S   DAUGHTER 
(THOMAS  CAMPBELL) 

A  CHIEFTAIN,  to  the  Highlands  bound, 
Cries,  "Boatman,  do  not  tarry! 

And  I'll  give  thee  a  silver  pound 
To  row  us  o'er  the  ferry. 

"Now  who  be  ye  would  cross  Lochgoyle, 
This  dark  and  stormy  weather?" 

"O,  I'm  the  chief  of  Ulva's  isle, 
And  this  Lord  Ullin's  daughter. 

And  fast  before  her  father's  men 
Three  days'  we've  fled  together, 

For  should  he  find  us  in  the  glen, 
My  blood  would  stain  the  heather. 

His  horsemen  hard  behind  us  ride, 
Should  they  our  steps  discover, 

Then  who  will  cheer  my  bonnie  bride 
When  they  have  slain  her  lover?" 

Out  spoke  the  hardy  Highland  wight, 
"I'll  go,  my  chief — I'm  ready — 

It  is  not  for  your  silver  bright, 
But  for  your  winsome  lady. 
147 


LORD  ULLIN'S  DAUGHTER 

"And,  by  my  word!  the  bonny  bird 

In  danger  shall  not  tarry, 
So,  though  the  waves  are  raging  white, 

I'll  row  you  o'er  the  ferry." 

By  this  the  storm  grew  loud  apace, 
The  water- wraith  was  shrieking; 

And  in  the  scowl  of  heaven,  each  face 
Grew  dark  as  they  were  speaking. 

But  still  as  wilder  blew  the  wind, 
And  as  the  night  grew  drearer, 

Adown  the  glen  rode  armed  men, 
Their  trampling  sounded  nearer. 

"O  haste  thee,  haste!"  the  lady  cries, 
"Though  tempests  round  us  gather; 

I'll  meet  the  raging  of  the  skies, 
But  not  an  angry  father." 

The  boat  has  left  a  stormy  land, 

A  stormy  sea  before  her; 
When,  oh!  too  strong  for  human  hand, 

The  tempest  gather' d  o'er  her. 

And  still  they  row'd  amidst  the  roar 

Of  waters  fast  prevailing : 
Lord  Ulfin  reach' d  that  fatal  shore, 

His  wrath  was  changed  to  wailing. 

148 


WOULD  YOU  BE  YOUNG  AGAIN? 

For  sore  dismay'd,  through  storm  and  shade, 

His  child  he  did  discover: 
One  lovely  hand  she  stretch' d  for  aid, 

And  one  was  round  her  lover. 

"Comeback!  come  back!"  he  cried  in  grief, 

"Across  this  stormy  water, 
And  I'll  forgive  your  Highland  chief, 

My  daughter! — oh,  my  daughter!" 

'Twas  vain :  the  loud  waves  lash'd  the  shore, 

Return  or  aid  preventing; 
The  waters  wild  went  o'er  his  child, 

And  he  was  left  lamenting. 


C 

WOULD   YOU   BE  YOUNG   AGAIN? 

(LADY  NAIRNE) 

WOULD  you  be  young  again? 

So  would  not  I — 
One  tear  to  memory  given, 

Onward  I'd  hie. 
Life's  dark  flood  forded  o'er, 
All  but  at  rest  on  shore, 
Say,  would  you  plunge  once  more, 

With  home  so  nigh? 

149 


GANE  WERE  BUT  THE  WINTER  CAULD 

If  you  might,  would  you  now 

Retrace  your  way? 
Wander  through  stormy  wilds, 

Faint  and  astray? 
Night's  gloomy  watches  fled, 
Morning  all  beaming  red, 
Hope's  smiles  around  us  shed, 

Heavenward-away. 

Where,  then,  are  those  dear  ones, 

Our  joy  and  delight? 
Dear  and  more  dear,  though  now 

Hidden  from  sight. 
Where  they  rejoice  to  be, 
There  is  the  land  for  me; 
Fly,  time,  fly  speedily; 

Come,  life  and  light. 


CI 

GANE      WERE      BUT      THE      WINTER 
CAULD 

(ALLAN  CUNNINGHAM) 

GANE  were  but  the  winter  cauld, 
And  gane  were  but  the  snaw, 

I  could  sleep  in  the  wild  woods, 
Whare  primroses  blaw. 
150 


THE  MAID  OF  MY  HEART 

Cauld's  the  snow  at  my  head, 

And  cauld  at  my  feet, 
And  the  finger  o'  death's  at  my  een, 

Closing  them  to  sleep. 

Let  nane  tell  my  father, 

Or  my  mother  dear: 
I'll  meet  them  baith  in  heaven 

At  the  spring  o'  the  year. 


CII 

THE  MAID  OF  MY  HEART 

(JAMES  HOME) 

WHEN  the  maid  of  my  heart,  with  the  dark 

rolling  eye, 

The  only  beloved  of  my  bosom  is  nigh, 
I  ask  not  of  heaven  one  bliss  to  impart, 
Save    that   which  I  feel  with  the  maid  of 

my  heart. 

When  around  and  above  us  there's  naught 

to  be  seen, 
But  the  moon  on  the  sky  and  the  flower  on 

green, 

And  all  is  at  rest  in  the  glen  and  the  hill, 
Save  the  soul-stirring  song  of  the  breeze  and 

the  rill; 

151 


GLENARA 

Then  the  maid  of  my  heart  to  my  bosom  is 
press' d, 

Then  all  I  hold  dear  in  this  world  is  pos- 
sessed ; 

Then  I  ask  not  of  heaven  one  bliss  to  im- 
part, 

Save  that  which  I  feel  with  the  maid  of  my 
heart. 


cm 

GLENARA 

(THOMAS  CAMPBELL) 

OH  !  heard  ye  yon  pibroch  sound  sad  in  the 

gale, 
Where  a  band  cometh  slowly  with  weeping 

and  wail? 

'Tis  the  chief  of  Glenara  laments  for  his  dear; 
And  her  sire,  and  the  people,  are  calPd  to 

her  bier. 

Glenara  came  first,  with  the  mourners  and 

shroud ; 
Her  kinsmen  they  follow'd,  but  mourn'd  not 

aloud : 
Their   plaids    all  their  bosoms  were  folded 

around ; 
They  march' d  all  in  silence,  they  look'd  on 

the  ground. 

152 


GLENARA 

In  silence  they  reach'd,  over  mountain  and 

moor, 
To  a  heath  when  the  oak-tree  grew  lonely 

and  hoar; 
''Now  here  let  us  place  the  grey  stone  of  her 

cairn; 
Why  speak  ye  no  word?"  said  Glenara  the 

stern. 

"And  tell  me,  I  charge  you,  ye  clan  of  my 
spouse ! 

Why  fold  ye  your  mantles,  why  cloud  ye 
your  brows?" 

So  spake"  the  rude  chieftain.  No  answer  is 
made. 

But  each  mantle  unfolding,  a  dagger  dis- 
play'd. 

"I   dreamt    of   my    lady,    I  dreamt  of  her 

shroud," 
Cried  a  voice  from  the  kinsmen,  all  wrathful 

and  loud; 
"And  empty  that  shroud  and  that  coffin  did 

seem. 
Glenara!  Glenara!  now  read  me  my  dream." 

Oh !  pale  grew  the  cheek  of  that  chieftain,  I 

ween, 
When  the  shroud  was  unclosed,  and  no  lady 

was  seen; 

153 


GLENARA 

When  a  voice  from  the  kinsmen  spoke  louder 

in  scorn — 
'Twas  the  youth  who  had   loved   the   fair 

Ellen  of  Lorn : 

"I  dreamt  of  my  lady,  I  dreamt  of  her  grief, 
I  dreamt  that  her  lord   was   a   barbarous 

chief; 

On  a  rock  of  the  ocean  fair  Ellen  did  seem. 
Glenara!  Glenara!  now  read  me  my  dream!" 

In  dust  low  the  traitor  has   knelt   to   the 

ground, 
And  the  desert  re  veal' d  where  his  lady  was 

found ; 
From  a  rock  of  the  ocean  that  beauty   is 

borne — 
Now  joy  to  the  house  of  fair  Ellen  of  Lorn! 


154 


DONALD  AND  FLORA 

CIV 

DONALD    AND   FLORA 

(HECTOR  MACNEILL) 

WHEN  merry  hearts  were  gay, 
Careless  of  aught  but  play, 
Poor  Flora  slipt  away, 

Sadd'ning  to  Mora: 
Loose  flowed  her  yellow  hair, 
Quick  heaved  her  bosom  bare, 
As  thus  to  the  troubled  air 

She  vented  her  sorrow. 

"Loud  howls  the  stormy  West, 
Cold,  cold  is  winter's  blast; 
Haste,  then,  O  Donald,  haste, 

Haste  to  thy  Flora! 
Twice  twelve  long  months  are  o'er, 
Since  on  a  foreign  shore 
You  promised  to  fight  no  more, 

But  meet  me  in  Mora. 

"  'Where  now  is  Donald  dear?' 
Maids  cry  with  taunting  sneer; 
'Say,  is  he  still  sincere 
To  his  loved  Flora?' 

155 


DONALD  AND  FLORA 

Parents  upbraid  my  moan, 
Each  heart  is  turn'd  to  stone: 
Ah,  Flora!  thou'rt  now  alone, 
Friendless  in  Mora! 


"Come,  then,  O  come  away! 
Donald,  no  longer  stay; 
Where  can  my  rover  stray 

From  his  loved  Flora! 
Ah!  sure  he  ne'er  could  be 
False  to  his  vows  and  me; 
Oh,  Heav'ns! — is  not  yonder  he, 

Bounding  o'er  Mora!" 


"Never,  ah!  wretched  fair!" 
Sigh'd  the  sad  messenger, 
"Never  shall  Donald  mair 

Meet  his  loved  Flora! 
Cold  as  yon  mountains  snow 
Donald  thy  love  lies  low; 
He  sent  me  to  soothe  thy  woe, 

Weeping  in  Mora. 

"Well  fought  our  gallant  men 
On  Saratoga's  plain; 
Thrice  fled  the  hostile  train 
From  British  glory. 
156 


DONALD  AND  FLORA 

But,  ah!  though  our  foes  did  flee, 
Sad  was  such  victory — 
Youth,  love,  and  loyalty 
Fell  far  from  Mora. 

"'Here,  take  this  love- wrought  plaid,' 
Donald,  expiring,  said; 
'Give  it  to  yon  dear  maid 

Drooping  in  Mora. 
Tell  her,  O  Allan,  tell! 
Donald  thus  bravely  fell, 
And  that  in  his  last  farewell 

He  thought  on  his  Flora.'" 

Mute  stood  the  trembling  fair, 
Speechless  with  wild  despair; 
Then,  striking  her  bosom  bare, 

Sigh'd  out,  "Poor  Flora! 
Ah,  Donald!  ah,  well-a-day !" 
Was  all  the  fond  heart  could  say: 
At  length  the  sound  died  away 

Feebly  on  Mora. 


157 


BONNIE  LASSIE 

cv 

BONNIE    LASSIE 
(ROBERT  ALLAN) 

BONNIE  lassie,  blythesome  lassie, 
Sweet's  the  sparkling  o'  thine  e'e; 

Aye  sae  wyling,  aye  beguiling, 
Ye  ha'e  stown  my  heart  frae  me. 

Fondly  wooing,  fondly  sueing, 
Let  me  love,  nor  love  in  vain; 

Fate  shall  never  fond  hearts  sever, 
Hearts  still  bound  by  true  love's  chain. 

Fancy  dreaming,  hope  bright  beaming, 
Shall  each  day  life's  feast  renew; 

Ours  the  treasure,  ours  the  pleasure, 
Still  to  live  and  love  more  true. 

Mirth  and  folly,  joys  unholy, 
Never  shall  our  thoughts  employ; 

Smiles  inviting,  hearts  uniting, 
Love  and  bliss  without  alloy. 

Bonnie  lassie,  blythesome  lassie, 
Sweet's  the  sparkling  o'  thine  e'e; 

Aye  sae  wyling,  aye  beguiling, 
Ye  ha'e  stown  my  heart  frae  me. 

158 


I  LO'ED  NE'ER  A  LADDIE  BUT  ANE 


CVI 

I    LO'ED    NE'ER    A    LADDIE   BUT  ANE 
(HECTOR  MACXKILL) 

I  LO'ED  ne'er  a  laddie  but  ane, 

He  lo'ed  ne'er  a  lassie  but  me; 
He's  willing  to  mak'  me  his  ain, 

And  his  ain  I  am  willing  to  be. 
He  has  coft  me  a  rokelay  o'  blue, 

And  a  pair  o'  mittens  o'  green; 
The  price  was  a  kiss  o'  my  mou', 

And  I  paid  him  the  debt  yestreen. 

Let  ithers  brag  weel  o'  their  gear, 

Their  land  and  their  lordly  degree; 
I  catena  for  aught  but  my  dear, 

For  he's  ilka  thing  lordly  to  me; 
His  words  are  sae  sugar'd  and  sweet! 

His  sense  drives  ilk  fear  far  awa' ! 
I  listen,  poor  fool!  and  I  greet; 

Yet  how  sweet  are  the  tears  as  they  fa' ! 

"Dear  lassie,"  he  cries,  wi'  a  jeer, 
"Ne'er  heed  what  the  auld  anes  will  say; 

Though  we've  little  to  brag  o',  ne'er  fear — 
What's  gowd  to  a  heart  that  is  wae? 

159 


I  LO'ED  NE'ER  A  LADDIE   BUT  ANE 

Our  laird  has  baith  honours  and  wealth, 
Yet  see  how  he's  dwining  wi'  care; 

Now  we,  though  we've  naething  but  health, 
Are  cantie  and  leal  evermair. 

"O  Marion!  the  heart  that  is  true, 
Has  something  mair  costly  than  gear! 

Ilk  e'en  it  has  naething  to  rue, 

Ilk  morn  it  has  naething  to  fear. 

Ye  wardlings!  gae  hoard  up  your  store, 
And  tremble  for  fear  aught  ye  tyne; 

Guard   your   treasures    wi'    lock,    bar,    and 

door, 
While  here  in  my  arms  I  lock  mine!" 

He  ends  wi'  a  kiss  and  a  smile — 

Wae's  me!  can  I  tak'  it  amiss? 
My  laddie's  unpractised  in  guile, 

He's  free  aye  to  daut  and  to  kiss! 
Ye  lasses  wha  lo'e  to  torment 

Your  wooers  wi'  fause  scorn  and  strife, 
Play  your  pranks — I  hae  gi'en  my  consent, 

And  this  nicht  I'm  Jamie's  for  life! 


160 


TELL  ME,  JESSIE,  TELL  ME  WHY? 

CVII 

TELL    ME,    JESSIE,     TELL    ME    WHY? 
(JOHN  HAMILTON) 

TELL  me,  Jessie,  tell  me  why 

My  fond  suit  you  still  deny? 

Is  your  bosom  cold  as  snow? 

Did  you  never  feel  for  woe? 

Can  you  hear,  without  a  sigh, 

Him  complain  who  for  you  could  die? 

If  you  ever  shed  a  tear, 

Hear  me,  Jessie,  hear,  O  hear! 

Life  to  me  is  not  more  dear 
Than  the  hour  brings  Jessie  here; 
Death  so  much  I  do  not  fear 
As  the  parting  moments  near. 
Summer  smiles  are  not  so  sweet 
As  the  bloom  upon  your  cheek; 
Nor  the  crystal  dew  so  clear 
As  your  eyes  to  me  appear. 

These  are  part  of  Jessie's  charms, 
Which  the  bosom  ever  warms; 
But  the  charms  by  which  I'm  stung, 
Come,  O  Jessie,  from  thy  tongue! 
11  161 


KINRARA 


Jessie,  be  no  longer  coy; 

Let  me  taste  a  lover's  joy; 

With  your  hand  remove  the  dart, 

And  heal  the  wound  that's  in  my  heart. 


CVIII 

KINRARA 

(ROBERT  COUPER,  M.D.) 

RED  gleams  the  sun  on  yon  hill-tap, 

The  dew  sits  on  the  gowan ; 
Deep  murmurs  through  her  glens  the  Spey, 

Around  Kinrara  rowan. 
Where  art  thou,  fairest,  kindest  lass? 

Alas!  wert  thou  but  near  me, 
Thy  gentle  soul,  thy  melting  eye, 

Would  ever,  ever  cheer  me. 

The  lav' rock  sings  among  the  clouds, 

The  lambs  they  sport  so  cheerie, 
And  I  sit  weeping  by  the  birk: 

O  where  art  thou,  my  dearie? 
Aft  may  I  meet  the  morning  dew, 

Lang  greet  till  I  be  weary; 
Thou  canna,  winna,  gentle  maid! 

Thou  canna  be  my  dearie. 
162 


1  WINNA  GANG   BACK  TO  MY  MAMMY  AGAIN 


CIX 

I  WINNA  GANG  BACK   TO   MY   MAMMY 
AGAIN 

(RICHARD  GALL) 

I  WINNA  gang  back  to  my  mammy  again, 
I'll  never  gae  back  to  my  mammy  again; 
I've  held  by  her  apron  these  aught  years  an' 

ten, 

But    I'll   never   gang   back  to  my  mammy 
again. 

I've  held  by  her  apron,  etc. 

Young  Johnnie  cam'  down  i'  the  gloamin'  to 

woo, 

Wi'  plaidie  sae  bonnie,  an'  bannet  sae  blue: 
"O  come  awa',  lassie,  ne'er  let  mammy  ken;" 
An'  I  flew  wi'  my  laddie  o'er  meadow  an'  glen. 
"O  come  awa',  lassie,  etc. 

He  ca'd  me  his  dawtie,  his  dearie,  his  doo, 
An'  press' d  hame  his  words  wi'  a  smack  o' 

my  mou' ; 

While  I  fell  on  his  bosom  heart-flicher'd  an'  fain, 
An'  sigh'd  out,  "O,  Johnnie,  I'll  aye  be  your 

am!" 
While  I  fell  on  his  bosom,  etc. 

163 


THE  BONNIE  BLINK  O'  MARY'S  E'E 

Some  lasses  will  talk  to  their  lads  wi'  their  e'e, 
Yet  hanker  to  tell  what  their  hearts  really 

dree; 

Wi'  Johnnie  I  stood  upon  nae  stapping-stane, 
Sae  I'll  never  gae  back  to  my  mammy  again. 
Wi'  Johnnie  I  stood,  etc. 

For  many  lang  year  sin'  I  play'd  on  the  lea, 
My  mammy  was  kind  as  a  mither  could  be ; 
I've  held  by  her  apron  these  aught  years  an' 

ten, 
But  I'll  never  gang  back   to   my   mammy 

again. 
I've  held  by  her  apron,  etc. 


CX 

THE    BONNIE    BLINK    O'    MARY'S    E'E 
(RICHARD  GALL) 

Now  bank  an'  brae  are  clad  in  green, 

An'  scatter'd  cowslips  sweetly  spring; 
By  Girvan's  fairy-haunted  stream 

The  birdies  flit  on  wanton  wing; 
By  Cassillis'  banks,  when  e'ening  fa's, 

There  let  my  Mary  meet  wi'  me, 
There  catch  her  ilka  glance  o'  love, 

The  bonnie  blink  o'  Mary's  e'e. 
164 


TO  AURELIA 

The  chiel'  wha  boasts  o'  warld's  wealth 

Is  aften  laird  o'  meikle  care; 
But  Mary  she  is  a'  my  ain, 

An'  Fortune  canna  gie  me  mair. 
Then  let  me  stray  by  Cassillis'  banks, 

Wi'  her,  the  lassie  dear  to  me, 
And  catch  her  ilka  glance  o'  love, 

The  bonnie  blink  o'  Mary's  e'e. 


CXI 
TO   AURELIA 

(JOHN    LEYDEN,   M.D.) 

ONE  kind  kiss,  my  love,  before 

We  bid  a  long  adieu! 
Ah!  let  not  this  fond  heart  deplore 

Thy  cold  cheek's  pallid  hue. 

One  soft,  sweet  smile  before  I  go! 

That  fancy  may  repeat, 
And  whisper,  'mid  the  sighs  of  woe, 

My  love,  we  yet  shall  meet. 

One  dear  embrace,  and  then  we  part- 
We  part  to  meet  no  more! 

I  bear  a  sad  and  lonely  heart 
To  pine  on  India's  shore. 

165 


BLINK  OVER  THE  BURN,   MY  SWEET  BETTY 

A  heart  that  once  had  loved  like  mine, 

No  second  love  can  know! 
A  heart  that  once  has  throbb'd  with  thine. 

Must  other  love  forego. 


CXII 

BLINK    OVER   THE   BURN,    MY   SWEET 
BETTY 

(ROBERT  ALLAN) 

BLINK  over  the  burn,  my  sweet  Betty, 

Blink  over  the  burn,  love,  to  me; 
O,  long  ha'e  I  look'd,  my  dear  Betty, 

To  get  but  a  blink  o'  thine  e'c. 
The  birds  are  a'  sporting  around  us, 

And  sweetly  they  sing  on  the  tree; 
But  the  voice  o'  my  bonnie  sweet  Betty, 

I  trow,  is  far  dearer  to  me. 

The  ringlets,  my  lovely  young  Betty, 
That  wave  o'er  thy  bonnie  e'ebree, 

I'll  twine  wi'  the  flowers  o'  the  mountain, 
That  blossom  sae  sweetly,  like  thee. 

Then  come  o'er  the  burn,  my  sweet  Betty, 
Come  over  the  burn,  love,  to  me; 

O,  sweet  is  the  bliss,  my  dear  Betty, 

To  live  in  the  blink  o'  thine  e'e. 
160 


ELLEN 


CXIII 

ELLEN 

(WILLIAM  GILLESPIE) 

THE  moon  shone  in  fits, 

And  the  tempest  was  roaring, 
The  Storm  Spirit  shriek'd, 

And  the  fierce  rain  was  pouring; 
Alone  in  her  chamber, 

Fair  Ellen  sat  sighing, 
The  tapers  burn'd  dim, 

And  the  embers  were  dying. 

"The  drawbridge  is  down, 

That  spans  the  wide  river; 
Can  tempest  divide, 

Whom  death  cannot  sever? 
Unclosed  is  the  gate, 

And  those  arms  long  to  fold  thee, 
'Tis  midnight,  my  love; 

O  say,  what  can  hold  thee?" 

But  scarce  flew  her  words, 
When  the  bridge  reft  asunder, 

The  horseman  was  crossing, 
'Mid  lightning  and  thunder, 
167 


ELLEN 

And  loud  was  the  yell, 
As  he  plunged  in  the  billow, 

That  maid  knew  it  well, 
As  she  sprung  from  her  pillow. 

She  scream'd  o'er  the  wall, 

But  no  help  was  beside  her; 
And  thrice  to  her  view 

Rose  the  horse  and  his  rider. 
She  gazed  at  the  moon, 

But  the  dark  cloud  pass'd  over; 
She  plunged  in  the  stream, 

And  she  sank  to  her  lover. 

Say,  what  is  that  flame, 

O'er  the  midnight  deep  beaming? 
And  whose  are  those  forms, 

In  the  wan  moonlight  gleaming? 
That  flame  gilds  the  wave, 

Which  their  pale  corses  cover; 
And  those  forms  are  the  ghosts 

Of  the  maid  and  her  lover. 


168 


MY  LASSIE  WP  THE  SUNNY  LOCKS 


CXIV 

MY    LASSIE    WI'    THE    SUNNY    LOCKS 
(ALLAN  CUNNINGHAM) 

MY  lassie  wi'  the  sunny  locks 

Dwells  in  a  moorlan'  ha' ; 
Oh !  the  flower  of  the  wilderness 

Blooms  fairest  flower  of  a', 
When  there's  nought  save  the  dew 

In  its  bosom  to  fa'. 

My  love's  the  balmy  seed 
Of  the  garden's  sweetest  flower, 

Nursed  up  in  fragrant  beauty 
By  the  golden  sun  and  shower; 

And  nane  save  the  wild  birds 
Ken  o'  its  power. 

Oh!  lightsome  are  her  looks 
And  as  sweet  as  sweet  can  be, 

She  is  the  light  of  morning 
In  ilka  bodie's  ee; 

And  a  drap  o'  dearest  blood 
In  this  bosom  to  me. 

169 


THE  LOVELY  MAID  OF  ORMADALE 

A  maid  of  eighteen' s  kindest, 
A  maid  of  eighteen' s  best, 

She's  like  the  merle's  gorlin 
Stown  out  of  the  nest, 

That  sings  aye  the  sweeter 
The  mair  it  is  carest. 

Oh!  sixteen' s  a  honey  pear 
Beginning  for  to  blaw, 

And  seventeen  is  drop-ripe, 
And  tempting  witha' ; 

And  eighteen  is  pou't 
If  ye  e'er  pou't  ava'. 


CXV 

THE    LOVELY    MAID    OF    ORMADALE 
(ROBERT  ALLAN) 

WHEN  sets  the  sun  o'er  Lomond's  height, 

To  blaze  upon  the  western  wave; 
When  peace  and  love  possess  the  grove, 

And  echo  sleeps  within  the  cave; 
Led  by  love's  soft  endearing  charms, 

I  stray  the  pathless  winding  vale, 
And  hail  the  hour  that  gives  to  me 

The  lovely  maid  of  Ormadale. 
170 


THE  HILLS  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS 

Her  eyes  outshine  the  star  of  night, 

Her  cheeks  the  morning's  rosy  hue; 
And  pure  as  flower  in  summer  shade, 

Low  bending  in  the  pearly  dew: 
Nor  flower  sae  fair  and  lovely  pure, 

Shall  fate's  dark  wintry  winds  assail; 
As  angel-smile  she  aye  will  be 

Dear  to  the  bowers  of  Ormadale. 

Let  fortune  soothe  the  heart  of  care, 

And  wealth  to  all  its  votaries  give; 
Be  mine  the  rosy  smile  of  love, 

And  in  its  blissful  arms  to  live 
I  would  resign  fair  India's  wealth, 

And  sweet  Arabia's  spicy  gale, 
For  balmy  eve  and  Scotian  bower, 

With  thee,  loved  maid  of  Ormadale. 


CXVI 

THE   HILLS   OF   THE   HIGHLANDS 
(WILLIAM  NICHOLSON) 

WILL  ye  go  to  the  Highlan's,  my  Mary, 
And  visit  our  haughs  and  our  glens? 

There's  beauty  'mang  hills  o'  the  Highlan's, 
That  lass  i'  th'  Lowlands  ne'er  kens. 
171 


THE  HILLS  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS 

'Tis  true  we've  few  cowslips  or  roses, 
Nae  lilies  grow  wild  on  the  lea; 

But  the  heather  its  sweet  scent  discloses, 
And  the  daisy's  as  sweet  to  the  e'e. 

See  yon  far  heathy  hills,  whare  they're  risin', 
Whose  summits  are  shaded  wi'  blue; 

There  the  fleet  mountain  roes  they  are  lyin', 
Or  feedin'  their  fawns,  love,  for  you. 

Right  sweet  are  our  scenes  i'  the  gloamin', 
Whan  shepherds  return  frae  the  hill, 

Aroun'  by  the  banks  o'  Loch  Lomon', 
While  bagpipes  are  soundin'  sae  shrill. 

Right  sweet  are  the  low-setting  sunbeams, 
That  point  owre  that  quivering  stream ; 

But  sweeter  the  smiles  o'  my  Mary, 
And  kinder  the  blinks  o'  her  een. 


172 


JENNY'S  BAWBEE 


CXVII 
JENNY'S   BAWBEE 

(SIR    ALEXANDER    BOS  WELL,    BART.) 

I  MET  four  chaps  yon  birks  amang, 

Wi'  hanging  lugs  and  faces  lang; 

I  spier'd  at  neighbour  Bauldy  Strang, 

Wha's  they  I  see? 

Quoth  he,  ilk  cream-faced,  pawky  chiel' 
Thinks  himsel'  cunnin'  as  the  deil, 
And  here  they  cam'  awa'  to  steal 

Jenny's  bawbee. 

The  first,  a  Captain  to  his  trade, 
Wi'  ill-lined  skull,  but  back  weel  clade, 
March' d  round  the  barn,  and  by  the  shed, 

And  papped  on  his  knee: 
Quoth  he,  My  goodness,  nymph,  and  queen, 
Your  beauty's  dazzled  baith  my  e'en! 
Though  ne'er  a  beauty  he  had  seen 

But  Jenny's  bawbee. 

A  Norland  Laird  neist  trotted  up 
Wi'  bawsint  naig  and  siller  whup; 
Cried — There's  my  beast,  lad,  haud  the  grup, 
Or  tie  it  to  a  tree. 
173 


JENNY'S  BAWBEE 

What's  gowd  to  me?    I've  wealth  o'  Ian', 
Bestow  on  ane  o'  worth  your  han' : 
He  thought  to  pay  what  he  was  awn 
Wi'  Jenny's  bawbee. 

A  Lawyer  neist,  wi'  bleth'rin'  gab, 
Wha  speeches  wove  like  ony  wab; 
O  ilka  ane's  corn  aye  took  a  dab, 

And  a'  for  a  fee; 

Accounts  he  owed  through  a'  the  toun, 
And    tradesmen's    tongues    nae    mair   could 

drown ; 

But  now  he  thought  to  clout  his  goun 
Wi'  Jenny's  bawbee. 

Quite    spruce,    just   frae   from    the    washin 

tubs, 

A  fool  came  neist;  but  life  has  rubs; 
Foul  were  the  roads,  and  fu'  the  dubs, 

And  jaupit  a'  was  he: 
He  danced  up  squintin'  through  a  glass, 
And  grinn'd,  i'  faith,  a  bonnie  lass! 
He  thought  to  win,  wi'  front  o'  brass, 

Jenny's  bawbee. 

She  bada  the  laird  gae  kaim  his  wig, 
The  sodger  not  to  strut  sae  big, 
The  lawyer  not  to  be  a  prig; 

The  fool  he  cried,  Te-hee ! 
174 


GOOD-NIGHT,   AND  JOY   BE  WI'   YE  A' 

I  kenn'd  that  I  could  never  fail! 
But  she  pinn'd  the  dishclout  to  his  tail, 
And  soused  him  frae  the  water-pail, 
And  kept  her  bawbee. 

Then  Johnnie  came,  a  lad  o'  sense, 
Although  he  had  na  mony  pence, 
And  took  young  Jenny  to  the  spence, 

Wi'  her  to  crack  a  wee. 
Now  Johnnie  was  a  clever  chiel', 
And  here  his  suit  he  press'd  sae  weel 
That  Jenny's  heart  grew  saft  as  jeel, 

And  she  birl'd  her  bawbee. 


CXVIII 
GOOD-NIGHT,  AND  JOY   BE  WI'   YE    A' 

(SIR    ALEXANDER    BOSWELL,    BART.) 

GOOD-NIGHT,  and  joy  be  wi'  ye  a', 

Your  harmless  mirth  has  cheer'd  my  heart ; 
May  life's  fell  blasts  out  o'er  ye  blaw; 

In  sorrow  may  ye  never  part! 
My  spirit  lives,  but  strength  is  gone, 

The  mountain-fires  now  blaze  in  vain; 
Remember,  sons,  the  deeds  I've  done, 

And  in  your  deeds  I'll  live  again! 
175 


GOOD-NIGHT,   AND  JOY   BE  WP  YE  A' 

When  on  yon  muir  our  gallant  clan 

Frae  boasting  foes  their  banners  tore, 
Wha  show'd  himself  a  better  man, 

Or  fiercer  waved  the  red  claymore? 
But  when  in  peace — then  mark  me  there — 

When  through  the  glen  the  wand'rer  came, 
I  gave  him  of  our  lordly  fare, 

I  gave  him  here  a  welcome  hame. 

The  auld  will  speak,  the  young  maun  hear; 

Be  cantie,  but  be  gude  and  leal; 
Your  ain  ills  aye  hae  heart  to  bear, 

Anither's  aye  hae  heart  to  feel. 
So,  ere  I  set,  I'll  see  ye  shine; 

I'll  see  ye  triumph  ere  I  fa' ; 
My  parting  breath  shall  boast  you  mine — 

Good-night,  and  joy  be  wi'  ye  a' ! 


176 


I 

O!   WILL  YE  GO  TO  YON   BURN  SIDE? 


CXIX 

O!   WILL   YE   GO   TO  YON  BURN  SIDE? 
(WILLIAM  NICHOLSON) 

O!  will  ye  go  to  yon  burn  side, 

Amang  the  new-made  hay; 
And  sport  upon  the  flowery  swaird, 

My  ain  dear  May? 
The  sun  blinks  blythe  on  yon  burn  side, 

Where  lambkins  lightly  play, 
The  wild  bird  whistles  to  his  mate, 

My  ain  dear  May. 

The  waving  woods,  wi'  mantle  green, 

Shall  shield  us  in  the  bower, 
Whare  I'll  pu'  a  posy  for  my  May, 

O'  mony  a  bonnie  flower. 
My  father  maws  ayont  the  burn, 

My  mammy  spins  at  hame; 
And  should  they  see  thee  here  wi'  me, 

I'd  better  been  my  lane. 

The  lightsome  lammie  little  kens 

What  troubles  it  await — 
Whan  ance  the  flush  o'  spring  is  o'er, 
The  fause  bird  lea'es  its  mate. 

177 
12 


O!   WILL  YE  GO  TO  YON   BURN  SIDE? 

The  flowers  will  fade,  the  woods  decay, 

And  lose  their  bonnie  green; 
The  sun  wi'  clouds  may  be  o'ercast, 

Before  that  it  be  e'en. 

Ilk  thing  is  in  its  season  sweet; 

So  love  is  in  its  noon: 
But  cankering  time  may  soil  the  flower, 

And  spoil  its  bonnie  bloom. 
Oh,  come  then,  while  the  summer  shines, 

And  love  is  young  and  gay; 
Ere  age  his  withering,  wintry  blast 

Blaws  o'er  me  and  my  May. 

For  thee  I'll  tend  the  fleecy  flocks, 

Or  hand  the  halesome  plough; 
And  nightly  clasp  thee  to  my  breast, 

And  prove  aye  leal  and  true. 
The  blush  o'erspread  her  bonnie  face, 

She  had  nae  mair  to  say, 
But  ga'e  her  hand  and  walk'd  alang, 

The  youthfu',  bloomin'  May. 


178 


MY  BONNIE  LASSIE 


*  cxx 

MY   BONNIE   LASSIE 
(ALLAN  CUNNINGHAM) 

LET  the  table  be  spread, 

Bring  me  wine  of  the  rarest 
And  fill  me  a  cup: 

Here's  the  health  of  the  fairest ! 
The  ladies  of  Nithsdale 

Are  stately  and  saucie, 
But  there's  nane  o'  them  a' 

Like  my  Bonnie  Lassie. 

She  has  nae  broad  lands 

To  maintain  her  in  grandeur, 
Nor  jewels  to  light  all 

The  kirk  with  their  splendour; 
But  Nature  has  made  her 

Sae  loves ome  and  gaucie, 
That  a  grey  gown's  enough 

For  sae  bonnie  a  lassie. 

Her  forehead  is  clearer 
Than  Nith  when  it's  sunny, 

Her  bright  laughing  een 
Amang  lads  are  uncanny; 
179 


THE  BONNIE  BARK 

Her  lang,  clustering  love-locks — 
Here,  fill  me  the  tassie: 

There's  nane  of  them  a' 
Like  my  Bonnie  Lassie. 

I  am  drunk  wi'  her  love, 

And  forget  in  her  presence, 
But  that  she's  divine, 

And  I  owe  her  obeisance; 
And  I  saunter  at  eve, 

Though  the  big  rain  be  falling, 
And  count  myself  blest 

With  a  sight  of  her  dwelling. 


CXXI 

THE   BONNIE   BARK 
(ALLAN  CUNNINGHAM) 

O  COME,  my  bonnie  bark! 

O'er  the  waves  let  us  go, 
With  thy  neck  like  the  swan, 

And  thy  wings  like  the  snow. 
Spread  thy  plumes  to  the  wind, 

For  a  gentle  one  soon 
Must  welcome  us  home, 

Ere  the  wane  of  the  moon. 

180 


THE  BONNIE  BARK 

The  proud  oak  that  built  thee 

Was  nursed  in  the  dew, 
Where  my  gentle  one  dwells, 

And  stately  it  grew. 
I  hew'd  its  beauty  down; 

Now  it  swims  on  the  sea, 
And  wafts  spice  and  perfume, 

My  fair  one,  to  thee. 

Oh,  sweet,  sweet's  her  voice, 

As  a  low  warbled  tune; 
And  sweet,  sweet  her  lips, 

Like  the  rosebud  of  June. 
She  looks  to  sea,  and  sighs, 

As  the  foamy  wave  flows, 
And  treads  on  men's  strength, 

As  in  glory  she  goes. 

Oh  haste,  my  bonnie  bark, 

O'er  the  waves  let  us  bound, 
As  the  deer  from  the  horn, 

Or  the  hare  from  the  hound. 
Pluck  down  thy  white  plumes 

Sink  thy  keel  in  the  sand, 
Whene'er  ye  see  my  love, 

And  the  wave  of  her  hand. 


181 


OLD  SCOTLAND,   I   LOVE  THEE! 

CXXII 

OLD   SCOTLAND,    I   LOVE  THEE' 
(ANDREW  PARK) 

OLD  Scotland,  I  love  thee !  thou'rt  dearer  to 
me 

Than  all  lands  that  are  girt  by  the  wide- 
rolling  sea; 

Though  asleep  not  in  sunshine,  like  island 
afar, 

Yet  thou'rt  gallant  in  love,  and  triumphant 
in  war! 

Thy  cloud-cover 'd  hills  that  look  up  from  the 

seas 
Wave  sternly  their  wild  woods  aloift  in  the 

breeze ; 

Where  flies  the  bold  eagle  in  freedom  on  high, 
Through  regions  of  cloud  in  its  wild  native 

sky! 
For  old  Scotland,  I  love  thee!  etc. 

O  name  not  the  land  where  the    olive-tree 

grows, 
Nor  the  land  of  the  shamrock,  nor  land  of 

the  rose; 

182 


AN   AUTUMN   WIND 

But   show    me    the    thistle   that  waves  his 

proud  head 
O'er  heroes  whose  blood  for  their  country 

was  shed. 
For  old  Scotland,  I  love  thee!  etc. 

Then  tell  me  of  bards  and  of  warriors  bold, 
Who  wielded  their  brands  in  the  battles  of 

old, 
Who    conquer'd    and    died    for    their    loved 

native  land, 
With  its  maidens  so  fair,  and  its  mountains 

so  grand ! 
For  old  Scotland,  I  love  thee!  etc. 


CXXIII 

AN   AUTUMN   WIND 
(GEORGE  MACDONALD,  LL.D.) 

THE  autumn  winds  are  sighing 

Over  land  and  sea; 
The  autumn  woods  are  dying 

Over  hill  and  lee; 
And  my  heart  is  sighing,  dying, 

Maiden,  for  thee. 

183 


THE  MAIDEN   FAIR 

The  autumn  clouds  are  flying 

Harmless  over  me; 
The  homeless  birds  are  crying 

In  the  naked  tree; 
And  my  heart  is  flying,  crying, 

Maiden,  to  thee. 

My  cries  may  turn  to  gladness, 

And  my  flying  flee; 
My  sighs  may  lose  the  sadness, 

Yet  sigh  on  in  me; 
All  my  sadness,  all  my  gladness, 

Maiden,  rest  in  thee. 


CXXIV 

THE   MAIDEN    FAIR 
(JOHN  WRIGHT) 

THE  moon  hung  o'er  the  gay  greenwood, 

The  greenwood  o'er  the  mossy  stream, 
That  roll'd  in  rapture's  wildest  mood, 

And  flutter'd  in  the  fairy  beam. 
Through  light  clouds  flash' d  the  fitful  gleam 

O'er  hill  and  dell, — all  Nature  lay 
Wrapp'd  in  enchantment,  like  the  dream 

Of  her  that  charm'd  my  homeward  way! 

184, 


FARE  THEE  WEEL 

Long  had  I  mark'd  thee,  maiden  fair! 

And  drunk  of  bliss  from  thy  dark  eye, 
And  still,  to  feed  my  fond  despair, 

Bless'd  thy  approach,  and,  passing  by, 
I  turn'd  me  round  to  gaze  and  sigh, 

In  worship  wild,  and  wish' d  thee  mine, 
On  that  fair  breast  to  live  and  die, 

O'erpowered  with  transport  so  divine! 

Still  sacred  be  that  hour  to  love, 

And  dear  the  season  of  its  birth, 
And  fair  the  glade,  and  green  the  grove, 

Its  bowers  ne'er  droop  in  wintry  dearth 
Of  melody  and  woodland  mirth ! 

The  hour,  the  spot,  so  dear  to  me! 
That  wean'd  my  soul  from  all  on  earth, 

To  be  for  ever  bless'd  in  thee. 


cxxv 

FARE   THEE   WEEL 

(GEORGE  MENZIES) 

FARE  thee  weel,  my  bonnie  lassie; 
Fare  thee  weel  for  ever,  Jessie! 
Though  I  ne'er  again  may  meet  thee, 
Tell  na  me  that  I'll  forget  thee. 

185 


BLINK  OVER  THE  BURN,  SWEET  BETTY 

By  yon  starry  heavens  I  vgw  it! 
By  my  love! — (I  may  na  rue  it)— 
By  this  hour  in  which  we  sever! 
I  will  love  but  thee  for  ever. 

Should  the  hand  of  death  arrest  me, 
Think  my  latest  prayer  hath  blest  thee; 
As  the  parting  pang  draws  nearer, 
I  will  love  thee  aye  the  dearer. 

Still  my  bosom's  love  I'll  cherish — 
'Tis  a  spark  that  winna  perish; 
Though  I  ne'er  again  may  meet  thee, 
Tell  na  me  that  I'll  forget  thee. 


CXXVI 

BLINK  OVER  THE  BURN,   SWEET 
BETTY 

(WILLIAM  GLEN) 

BLINK  over  the  burn,  sweet  Betty, 

Blink  over  the  burn  to  me; 
Blink  over  the  burn,  sweet  Betty, 

An'  I'll  gang  alang  wi'  thee; 
Though  father  and  mither  forbade  it, 

Forbidden  I  wadna  be; 
Blink  over  the  burn,  sweet  Betty, 

An'  I'll  gang  alang  wi'  thee. 

186 


BLINK  OVER  THE  BURN,   SWEET  BETTY 

The  cheek  o'  my  love's  like  the  rosebud, 

Blushing  red  wi'  the  mornin'  dew, 
Her  hair's  o'  the  loveliest  auburn, 

Her  ee's  o'  the  bonniest  blue; 
Her  lips  are  like  threads  o'  the  scarlet, 

Disclosing  a  pearly  row; 
Her  high-swelling,  love-heaving  bosom 

Is  white  as  the  mountain  snow. 

But  it  isna  her  beauty  that  hauds  me, 

A  glitterin'  chain  winna  lang  bind; 
'Tis  her  heavenly  seraph-like  sweetness, 

An'  the  graces  adornin'  her  mind; 
She's  dear  to  my  soul  as  the  sunbeam 

Is  dear  to  the  summer's  morn, 
An'  she  says,  though  her  father  forbade  it, 

She'll  ne'er  break  the  vows  she  has  sworn. 

Her  father's  a  canker 'd  auld  carle, 

He  swears  he  will  ne'er  gi'e  consent; 
Such  carles  should  never  get  daughters, 

Unless  they  can  mak'  them  content; 
But  she  says,  though  her  father  forbade  it, 

Forbidden  she  winna  be; 
Blink  over  the  burn,  sweet  Betty, 

An'  I'll  gang  along  wi'  thee. 


187 


A  SPRIG  OF  WHITE  HEATHER 


A   SPRIG   OF   WHITE   HEATHER 

(JOHN  STUART  BLACKIE) 

A  SPRIG  of  white  heather  I  pluck' d  on  the 
brae; 

To  whom  shall  I  give  it? 

To  whom  shall  I  give  it? 
Not  to  the  sportive,  the  light,  and  the  gay, 
Not  to  Jessie  with  flashing  display, 
In  the  flush  of  June,  when  the  roses  are  out, 
Flinging  her  frolicsome  fancies  about; 

But  beautiful  Phoebe,  to  thee,  to  thee, 

Thou  deep-thoughted  Phoebe,  to  thee! 

A  sprig  of  white  heather  I  pluck' d  on  the 

brae; 

To  whom  shall  I  give  it? 
To  whom  shall  I  give  it? 
Not  to  the  haughty,  the  high,  and  the  proud, 
Not   to    Clotilda,    who    sails    through    the 

crowd 

With  a  lofty  look  and  a  fine  disdain, 
As  if  all  were  born  to  hold  her  train ; 
But  beautiful  Phoebe,  to  thee,  to  thee, 
Thou  mild-eyed  Phoebe,  to  thee! 
188 


A  SPRIG  OF  WHITE  HEATHER 

A  sprig  of  white  heather  I  pluck'd  on  the 
brae; 

To  whom  shall  I  give  it? 

To  whom  shall  I  give  it? 
Not  to  the  clever,  the  keen,  and  the  knowing, 
With   eye    never    resting,    and    tongue    ever 

going, 

Not  to  Rebecca,  who  all  has  read 
That  goes,  and  goes  not  into  her  head; 

But  beautiful  Phoebe,  to  thee,  to  thee, 

Thou  silently-loving,  to  thee! 

A  sprig  of  white  heather  I  pluck'd  on  the 

brae; 

To  whom  shall  I  give  it? 
To  whom  shall  I  give  it? 
I'll  give  it  to  one,  or  I'll  give  it  to  none, 
I'll  give  it  to  Phoebe,  my  beautiful  one; 
The  rare  white  bloom  that  peeps  from  the 

brae 

So  chaste  and  so  pure  'mid  the  purple  dis- 
play; 

It  grew,  dear  Phoebe,  for  thee,  for  thee, 
Thou  rarest  and  fairest,  for  thee! 


189 


SWEET  BET  OF  ABERDEEN 
CXXVIII 

SWEET   BET   OF   ABERDEEN 

(ALEXANDER  RODGER) 

How  brightly  beams  the  bonnie  moon, 

Frae  out  the  azure  sky; 
While  ilka  little  star  aboon 

Seems  sparkling  bright  wi'  joy. 
How  calm  the  eve,  how  blest  the  hour! 

How  soft  the  sylvan  scene! 
How  fit  to  meet  thee,  lovely  flower, 

Sweet  Bet  of  Aberdeen ! 

Now  let  us  wander  through  the  broom, 
And  o'er  the  flowery  lea; 

While  simmer  wafts  her  rich  perfume, 
Frae  yonder  hawthorn  tree: 

There,  on  yon  mossy  bank  we'll  rest, 
Where  we've  sae  aften  been; 

Clasp'd  to  each  other's  throbbing  breast- 
Sweet  Bet  of  Aberdeen ! 

How  sweet  to  view  that  face  so  meek — 

That  dark  expressive  eye — 
To  kiss  that  lovely  blushing  cheek — 

Those  lips  of  coral  dye ! 

190 


HEIGH-HO! 

But  O!  to  hear  thy  seraph  strains, 
Thy  maiden  sighs  between, 

Makes  rapture  thrill  through  all  my  veins- 
Sweet  Bet  of  Aberdeen ! 

O!  what  to  us  is  wealth  or  rank? 

Or  what  is  pomp  or  power? 
More  dear  this  velvet  mossy  bank — 

This  blest,  ecstatic  hour! 
I'd  covet  not  the  monarch's  throne, 

Nor  diamond-studded  queen, 
While  blest  wi'  thee,  and  thee  alone, 

Sweet  Bet  of  Aberdeen ! 


CXXIX 

HEIGH-HO ! 

(DAVID  MACBETH  MOIR) 

A  PRETTY  young  maiden  sat  on  the  grass — 
Sing  heigh-ho!  sing  heigh-ho! — 

And  by  a  blythe  young  shepherd  did  pass, 
In  the  summer  morning  so  early. 

Said  he,  "My  lass,  will  you  go  with  me, 

My  cot  to  keep,  and  my  bride  to  be; 

Sorrow  and  want  shall  never  touch  thee, 
And  I  will  love  you  rarely?" 
191 


HEIGH-HO! 

"O!  no,  no,  no!"  the  maiden  said — 

Sing  heigh-ho!  sing  heigh-ho! — 
And  bashfully  turn'd  aside  her  head, 

On  that  summer  morning  so  early. 
"My  mother  is  old,  my  mother  is  frail, 
Our  cottage  it  lies  in  yon  green  dale; 
I  dare  not  list  to  any  such  tale, 

For  I  love  my  kind  mother  rarely." 

The  shepherd  took  her  lily-white  hand — 

Sing  heigh-ho!  sing  heigh-ho! — 
And  on  her  beauty  did  gazing  stand, 

On  that  summer  morning  so  early. 
"Thy  mother  I  ask  thee  not  to  leave 
Alone  in  her  frail  old  age  to  grieve; 
But  my  home  can  hold  us  all,  believe — 

Will  that  not  please  thee  fairly?" 

"O!  no,  no,  no!    I  am  all  too  young" — 

Sing  heigh-ho!  sing  heigh-ho! — 
"I  dare  not  list  to  a  young  man's  tongue 

On  a  summer  morning  so  early." 
But  the  shepherd  to  gain  her  heart  was  bent ; 
Oft  she  strove  to  go,  but  she  never  went; 
And  at  length  she  fondly  blush' d  consent — 

Heaven  bless  true  lovers  so  fairly. 


192 


HURRAH   FOR  THE  HIGHLANDS 


cxxx 

HURRAH    FOR   THE   HIGHLANDS 
(ANDREW  PARK) 

HURRAH  for  the  Highlands!  the  stern  Scot- 
tish Highlands, 

The  home  of  the  clansman,  the  brave,  and 
the  free; 

Where  the  clouds  love  to  rest,  on  the  moun- 
tain's rough  breast, 

Ere  they  journey  afar  o'er  the  islandless  sea. 

'Tis  there  where  the  cataract  sings  to  the 

breeze, 

As  it  dashes  in  foam  like  a  spirit  of  light; 
And  'tis  there  the  bold  fisherman  bounds  o'er 

the  seas 
In  his  fleet,  tiny  bark,  through  the  perilous 

night. 
Then  hurrah  for  the  Highlands!  etc. 

'Tis  the  land  of  deep  shadow,  of  sunshine, 

and  shower, 
Where    the    hurricane  revels  in  madness  on 

high; 

13  193 


SEE  THE  MOON 

For  there  it  has  might  than  can  war  with 

its  power, 
In  the  wild  dizzy  cliffs  that  are  cleaving  the 

sky. 
Then  hurrah  for  the  Highlands!  etc. 

I  have  trod  merry  England,  and  dwelt  on 

its  charms; 
I  have  wander' d  through  Erin,  that  gem  of 

the  sea; 
But  the  Highlands  alone  the  true  Scottish 

heart  warms — 
For  her  heather  is  blooming,  her  eagles  are 

free! 
Then  hurrah  for  the  Highlands!  etc. 


CXXXI 

SEE   THE   MOON 
(DANIEL  WEIR) 

SEE  the  moon  o'er  cloudless  Jura 
Shining  in  the  lake  below; 

See  the  distant  mountain  tow' ring 
Like  a  pyramid  of  snow. 

Scenes  of  grandeur — scenes  of  childhood- 
Scenes  so  dear  to  love  and  me! 

Let  us  roam  by  bower  and  wildwood — 
All  is  lovelier  when  with  thee. 

194 


BEHAVE  YOURSEL'   BEFORE  FOLK 

On  Leman's  breast  the  winds  are  sighing ; 

All  is  silent  in  the  grove; 
And  the  flow'rs,  with  dew-drops  glist'ning, 

Sparkle  like  the  eye  of  love. 
Night  so  calm,  so  dear,  so  cloudless; 

Blessed  night  to  love  and  me! 
Let  us  roam  by  bower  and  fountain — 

All  is  lovelier  when  with  thee. 


(ALEXANDER  RODGER) 

BEHAVE  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk; 
And  dinna  be  sae  rude  to  me, 
As  kiss  me  sae  before  folk. 

It  wad  na  gi'e  me  meikle  pain, 
Gin  we  were  seen  and  heard  by  nane, 
To  tak'  a  kiss,  or  grant  you  ane, 
But,  guid  sake!  no  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk; 
Whate'er  you  do  when  out  o'  view, 
Be  cautious  aye  before  folk. 
195 


BEHAVE  YOURSEL'   BEFORE  FOLK 

Consider,  lad,  how  folk  will  crack, 
And  what  a  great  affair  they'll  mak* 
O'  naething  but  a  simple  smack 
That's  gi'en  or  ta'en  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk; 
Nor  gi'e  the  tongue  o'  auld  or  young 
Occasion  to  come  o'er  folk. 

It's  no  through  hatred  o'  a  kiss 
That  I  sae  plainly  tell  you  this; 
But,  losh!    I  tak'  it  sair  amiss 
To  be  sae  teased  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk; 
When  we're  our  lane  ye  may  tak'  ane, 
But  fient  a  ane  before  folk. 

I'm  sure  wi'  you  I've  been  as  free 
As  ony  modest  lass  should  be; 
But  yet  it  doesna  do  to  see 
Sic  freedom  used  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk; 
I'll  ne'er  submit  again  to  it — 
So  mind  you  that — before  folk. 

Ye  tell  me  that  my  face  is  fair; 
It  may  be  sae — I  dinna  care — 
But  ne'er  again  gar't  blush  sae  sair 
As  ye  ha'e  done  before  folk. 

196 


BEHAVE  YOURSEL'  BEFORE  FOLK 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk; 
Nor  heat  my  cheeks  wi'  your  mad  freaks, 
But  aye  be  douce  before  folk. 

Ye  tell  me  that  my  lips  are  sweet, 
Sic  tales,  I  doubt,  are  a'  deceit; 
At  ony  rate,  it's  hardly  meet, 
To  pree  their  sweets  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk; 
Gin  that's  the  case,  there's  time  and  place, 
But  surely  no  before  folk. 

But,  gin  you  really  do  insist 
That  I  should  suffer  to  be  kiss'd, 
Gae  get  a  license  frae  the  priest, 
And  mak'  me  yours  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk; 
And  when  we're  ane,  bluid,  flesh  and  bane, 
Ye  may  tak'  ten  before  folk. 


197 


I  CANNA  SLEEP 


CXXXIII 

I   CANNA   SLEEP 
(WILLIAM  ANDERSON) 

I  CANNA  sleep  a  wink,  lassie, 

When  I  gang  to  bed  at  night, 
But  still  o'  thee  I  think,  lassie, 

Till  morning  sheds  its  light. 
I  lie  an'  think  o'  thee,  lassie, 

And  I  toss  frae  side  to  side, 
Like  a  vessel  on  the  sea,  lassie, 

When  stormy  is  the  tide. 

My  heart  is  no  my  ain,  lassie, 

It  winna  bide  wi'  me; 
Like  a  birdie  it  has  gane,  lassie, 

To  nestle  saft  wi'  thee. 
I  canna  lure  it  back,  lassie, 

Sae  keep  it  to  yoursel' ; 
But  oh!  it  sune  will  break,  lassie, 

If  you  dinna  use  it  well. 

Where  the  treasure  is,  they  say,  lassie, 

The  spirit  lingers  there; 
An'  mine  has  fled  away,  lassie — 

You  needna  ask  me  where. 

198 


NANNY 


I  marvel  oft  if  rest,  lassie, 

On  my  eyes  and  heart  would  bide, 
If  I  thy  troth  possess' d,  lassie, 

And  thou  wert  at  my  side. 


CXXXIV 

NANNY 
(ALEXANDER  HUME) 

THERE'S  mony  a  flower  beside  the  rose, 

And  sweets  beside  the  honey; 
But  laws  maun  change  ere  life  disclose 

A  flower  or  sweet  like  Nanny. 
Her  ee  is  like  the  summer  sun, 

When  clouds  can  no  conceal  it, 
Ye' re  blind  if  it  ye  look  upon, 

Oh !  mad  if  ere  ye  feel  it. 

I've  mony  bonnie  lassies  seen, 

Baith  blythesome,  kind,  an'  canny; 
But  oh!  the  day  had  never  been 

I've  seen  another  Nanny! 
She's  like  the  mavis  in  her  song, 

Amang  the  brakens  bloomin' ; 
Her  lips  ope  to  an  angel's  tongue, 

But  kiss  her,  oh!  she's  woman. 
199 


GLOSSARY 


Aboon,  above. 
A-low,  on  fire. 
Attld-farrant,  sagacious. 
Auzory,  a  store-place. 
Ava,  at  all. 
Ayont,  beyond. 

Ban,  to  swear. 

Bang;  to  change  place  hastily. 
Bangster,  a  violent  person. 
Baudrons,  a  cat. 
Bauld,  bold. 
Baum,  balm. 
Bawbee,  halfpenny. 
Bawks,  the  cross-beams  of  a  roof. 

Bawsint,  a  white  spot  on  the  forehead  of  cow  or  horse. 
Bawtie,  name  for  a  dog. 
Beild,  shelter. 
Bein,  good,  suitable. 
Beltane,  the  first  of  May,  old  style. 
Ben,  the  spence  or  parlor. 
Beuk,  book. 

Bicker,  a  drinking-vessel. 
Bink,  a  bank  of  earth. 
Birk,  birch. 
Blae,  blue. 

Blethers,  nonsensical  talk. 
Bhwart,  a  flower,  the  blue-bottle,  witch  bells. 
201 


GLOSSARY 

Blinket,  looked  kindly. 

Bob,  nosegay,  bunch,  or  tuft;  also  to  courtesy. 

Bobbin,  a  weaver's  quill  or  pirn. 

Boddle,  an  old  Scottish  coin — value  the  third  of  a  half- 
penny. 

Boggle,  a  marsh. 

Bonspiel,  a  match  at.  curling,  golf,  or  football. 

Bonnie,  beautiful. 

Bourtree,  the  elder-tree  or  shrub. 

Brag,  vaunt. 

Braggin,  boasting. 

Braken,  the  fern. 

Braw,  gaily  dressed. 

Bree,  the  eyebrow. 

Brochin,  oatmeal  boiled  in  water  till  somewhat  thicker 
than  gruel. 

Brogues,  shoes  made  of  sheepskin. 

Bught,  a  pen  for  sheep. 

Burn,  a  stream. 

Burnie,  a  small  rivulet. 

Busk,  to  attire  one's  self. 

Buskit,  dressed  tidily. 

Buss,  bush. 

Byke,  a  bee-hive. 

Cairny,  heap  of  stones. 

Caller,  cool. 

Camstrarie,  cross  and  unmanageable. 

Cantie,  cheerful. 

Cantrips,  spells,  charms,  incantations. 

Cannily,  gently. 

Carline,  an  old  woman. 

Castocks,  the  pith  of  stalks  of  cabbages. 

Cauldrife,  chilling. 

Caw,  to  drive. 

202 


GLOSSARY 

Chanter,  the  drone  of  a  bagpipe. 

Chap,  a  blow;  also  a  young  fellow. 

Chat,  talk. 

Chuckies,  chickens. 

Clavering,  talking  idly. 

deck,  to  hatch,  to  breed. 

Cled,  clad. 

Cleugh,  a  cliff. 

deeding,  clothing. 

Clishm'aclavers,  idle  talk. 

Clocksie,  vivacious. 

Clout,  to  strike  with  the  hand;  also  to  mend  a  hole 

in  clothes  or  shoes. 
dud,  cloud. 
Clutch,  seize. 
Coble,  a  fishing-boat. 
Cock-up,  a  hat  or  cap  turned  up  before. 
Cofi,  purchased. 
Cogie,  a  hollow  wooden  vessel. 
Coof,  a  fool. 
Coost,  cast. 

Come,  a  hollow  in  a  hill. 
Cosie,  snug,  comfortable. 
Couthilie,  kindly. 
Couthy,  frank. 
Cower,  to  crouch,  to  stoop. 
Cowt,  a  strong  stick. 
Crack,  to  converse. 
Cranreuch,  the  hoarfrost. 
Creel,  a  basket. 
Croft,  a  tenement  of  land. 
Croodle,  to  sing  with  a  low  voice. 
Croon,  to  make  a  plaintive  sound. 
Grouse,  brisk. 

Crowdy,  meal  and  cold  water,  stirred  together. 
203 


GLOSSARY 

Crusie,  a  small  iron  lamp. 
Cuddle,  embrace. 
Cuiff,  a  blockhead. 
Cuttie,  a  short  pipe. 

Dab,  to  peck  as  birds  do. 

Daddy,  father. 

Daff,  to  make  sport. 

DafEn',  diversion,  merry-making. 

Dantit,  subdued,  tamed  down. 

Daud,  a  blow. 

Daunder,  to  walk  thoughtlessly. 

Daut,  caress. 

Dautit,  fondled. 

Dawtie,  a  pet,  a  darling. 

Dighted,  wiped. 

Dirdum,  tumult. 

Disjaskit,  having  appearance  of  decay. 

Doit,  a  small  coin. 

Doited,  stupid. 

Donnart,  stupefied. 

Doo,  dove. 

Dool,  grief. 

Doops,  dives  down. 

Dotty,  a  foolish  urchin. 

Dottf,  dull,  sad. 

Dow,  wither. 

Dowie,  sad,  worn  with  grief. 

Downa,  expressive  of  inability. 

Draigle,  draggle. 

Dree,  suffer,  endure. 

Dreeping,  dripping,  wet. 

Dreich,  tedious. 

Dringing,  delaying. 

Drone,  sound  of  bagpipes. 

204 


GLOSSARY 

Drucket,  drenched. 

Drumly,  muddy. 

Dub,  a  mire. 

Dumpish,  short  and  thick. 

Dung,  defeated. 

Dunt,  a  knock. 

Dwine,  dwindle. 

Eerie,  timorous;  dreading  things  supernatural. 

Eident,  wary. 

Edi,  old. 

Eithly,  easily. 

Elf,  a  puny  creature. 

Ettled,  aimed. 

Fradin,  farthing. 

Fashious,  troublesome. 

Fauld,  a  fold. 

Pause,  false. 

FeckJy,  mostly. 

Fend,  defend. 

Ferlies,  remarkable  things. 

Plate,  scolded. 

Pleyt,  frightened. 

Fleeched,  flattered,  deceived. 

Fleechit,  cajoled. 

Flow,  a  fragment. 

Fogie,  a  stupid  old  person. 

Forby,  besides. 

Foumart,  a  pole-cat. 

Fraise,  flattery. 

Freenge,  fringe. 

Fremmit,  strange,  foreign. 

Frumpish,  crumpled. 

Fykes,  troubles,  anxieties. 

205 


GLOSSARY 

Gabbin,  jeering. 

Gabbit,  a  person  prone  to  idle  talk. 

Gaed,  went. 

Ganger,  a  pedestrian. 

Gar,  compel. 

Gate,  way. 

Gaucie,  plump,  jolly. 

Gauds,  trinkets. 

Gawkie,  a  foolish  female. 

Gfe,  give. 

Gif,  if. 

Giggle,  unmeaning  laughter. 

Gilphie,  a  half-grown  person,  a  romping  lad. 

Gin,  against. 

Girse,  grass. 

Glaikit,  stupid. 

Glaiks,  foolish  talk. 

Glamour,  the  influence  of  a  charm. 

Glamrie,  the  power  of  enchantment. 

Glint,  a  glance. 

Gloaming,  the  evening  twilight. 

Glower,  stare. 

Glum,  gloomy. 

Gowd,  gold. 

Graffs,  graves.  • 

Graith,  gear. 

Grane,  groan. 

Grannie,  grandmother. 

Grat,  wept. 

Grecie,  a  little  pig. 

Gree,  agree. 

Greet,  weep. 

Grist,  the  fee  paid  at  the  mill  for  grinding. 

Grit,  great. 

Grup,  grasp. 

206 


GLOSSARY 


Grasome,  frightful. 
Gutchir,  grandfather. 
Gutters,  mud,  wet  dust. 


Haddin,  a  farmer's  stock. 

Haet,  a  whit. 

Haffit-links,  a  necklace. 

Haffins,  nearly  half. 

Haill,  whole. 

Haiti,  save,  preserve. 

Hap,  cover. 

Haps,  outer  garments. 

Hands,  holds. 

Havens,  endowments. 

Hecht,  called,  named. 

Heftit,  familiarized  to  a  place. 

Heuk,  reaping-hook. 

Hie,  high. 

Hinkum,  that  which  is  put  up  in  hanks  or  balls,  as 

thread. 

Hinnied,  honied. 
Hinny,  honey,  a  familiar  term  of  affection  among  the 

peasantry. 

Hirple,  to  walk  haltingly. 
Hizzie,  Hussy,  a  thoughtless  girl. 
Hodder,  a  coarse  kind  of  cloth. 
Howe,  a  hollow. 
Howkit,  dug. 
H owlet,  an  owl. 
Hummel,  humble. 
Hurkle,  to  bow  down  to. 
Hyne,  hence. 

Ilka,  each. 

207 


GLOSSARY 

Jaupit,  bespattered. 

Jeel,  jelly. 

Jimp,  neat,  slender. 

Kail,  cabbages,  colewort. 

Kaim,  comb. 

Kebbuck,  a  cheese. 

Keil,  red  clay,  used  for  marking. 

Ken,  know. 

Kenspeckle,  having  a  singular  appearance. 

Keust,  threw  off. 

Kilt,  to  truss  up  the  clothes. 

Kipper,  salmon  salted,  hung  and  dried. 

Kith,  acquaintance. 

Kittle,  difficult,  uncertain. 

Knowe,  a.  hillock. 

Kye,  cows. 

Laigb,  low. 

Laith,  loth. 

Leal,  faithful,  loyal. 

Lear,  learning. 

Leeve,  live. 

Leeze  me,  a  term  of  congratulatory  endearment, 

Lick,  wipe,  beat. 

Lift,  the  sky. 

Litheless,  listless. 

Loof,  the  palm  of  the  hand. 

Losh,  an  exclamation  of  surprise. 

Loupirf,  leaping. 

Lowe,  flame. 

Lowirf,  burning,  warm. 

Lucken,  a  bog. 

Lucky  A,  an  old  woman. 

Lugs,  ears. 

208 


GLOSSARY 

Lum,  a  chimney. 
Luntin,  smoking. 
Lure,  allure. 
Lyart,  gray-haired. 

Mailin,  a  rent;  a  rented  farm,  or  market  garden. 

Mane,  moan,  complain. 

Maukin,  a  hare. 

Maw,  to  mow,  the  stomach. 

Mawn,  mown;  a  basket. 

May,  a  maiden. 

Mense,  honor,  discretion. 

Mickle,  much. 

Mim,  prim,  prudish. 

Minnie,  mother. 

Mirk,  dark. 

Mishanter,  a  sorry  scrape. 

Mittens,  gloves  without  fingers. 

Mools,  the  earth  of  the  grave. 

Mullin,  crumb. 

Mutch,  a  woman's  cap. 

Muter,  multure,  ground  corn. 

Naig,  a  riding  horse. 

Neip,  a  turnip. 

Neive,  the  fist. 

Neivefo',  a  handful. 

Newfangled,  new  fashioned. 

Niddered,  depressed,  stunted. 

Niffer,  to  exchange. 

Nip,  to  pinch. 

Nippen,  carried  off  surreptitiously. 

Oons,  wounds. 
Opt,  opened. 

14  209 


GLOSSARY 

Ouk,  a  week. 

Outower,  moreover,  out  of. 

Owre,  over. 

Owerlay,  a  cravat 

Paitrick,  partridge. 

Parochin',  parish. 

Pawkie,  cunning. 

Perk,  pole,  perch. 

Perlins,  women's  ornaments. 

Pleugh,  plough. 

Pliskie,  a  trick. 

Poortith,  poverty. 

Pow,  the  head. 

Pree,  to  taste,  to  kiss. 

Preed,  tasted. 

Pu\  pull. 

Racket,  stretched. 

Randy,  a  scold,  a  shrew. 

Rate,  beat. 

Rax,  reach. 

Rede,  to  counsel — advice,  wisdom. 

Reefer,  river. 

Reft,  deprived. 

Rink,  a  race,  a  line. 

Rocklay,  a  short  cloak  or  surplice. 

Roke,  a  distaff;  also  to  swing. 

Roose,  extol. 

Routh,  abundance. 

Rowes,  rolls. 

Rummulgumshin,  common  sense. 

Runts,  the  trunks  of  trees,  the  stem  of  colewort. 

Sabbit,  sobbed. 

210 


GLOSSARY 

Saughs,  willow-trees. 

Scant,  scarce. 

Scartle,  a  grape,  or  fork. 

Scaur,  to  scare,  a  wound. 

Scour,  search. 

Scoured,  burnished,  ran. 

Scow/,  to  frown. 

Scrimpit,  contracted. 

Scrimply,  barely. 

Scroggie,  abounding  with  stunted  bushes. 

Scug,  shelter. 

Scunner"  d,  disgusted. 

Seer,  sure. 

Shanks-naigie,  to  travel  on  foot. 

Shaw,  a  plantation. 

Sheiling,  a  temporary  cottage  or  hut. 

Shiel,  a  sheep-shed. 

Siccan,  such. 

Sinsyne,   after  that  period. 

Skailt,  emptied,  scattered. 

Skeigh,  timorous. 

Skiffin,  moving  lightly. 

Skipt,   went  lightly  and  swiftly  along. 

Slee,  sly. 

Sleekit,  cunning. 

Slockin,  to  allay  thirst. 

Smeddum,  sagacity. 

Smoored,   smothered. 

Snooded,  the  hair  bound  up. 

Sough,  the  breathing  a  tune;  also  the  sighing  of  the 

wind. 

Spaewife,  a  female  fortune-teller. 
Speer,  ask. 
Speerin',  inquiring. 
Spence,  a  larder. 

211 


GLOSSARY 

Squinting;  looking  obliquely. 

Staigie,  a  young  horse. 

Starn,  star. 

Steer,  stir. 

Sad,  should. 

Sumph,   a  soft  person. 

Swankie,   a  clever  young  fellow. 

Sweir,  indolent. 

Swiggit,   swallowed. 

Swither,  to  hesitate. 

Syne,  then. 

Tane,  the  one  of  two. 

Tapsle-teerie,  topsy-turvy. 

Tauld,  told. 

Ted,  toad. 

Tent,  care. 

Tentie,  heedful,  cautious. 

Tentin',  leading. 

Tether,  halter. 

Thairms,  strings. 

Theek,  thatch. 

Teuch,  tough. 

Thole,  to  endure. 

Thowless,  inactive. 

Thraw,  twist. 

Thrawart,  froward,  perverse. 

Timmer,  timber. 

Tine,  lose. 

Tint,  lost. 

Tirl,  to  uncover. 

Tocher,  dowry. 

Toom,  empty. 

Toss,  toast. 

Tont,  shout. 

212 


GLOSSARY 

Towmond,  a  year. 
Tramps,  vagrants. 
Trantlooms,   odds  and  ends. 
Trig,  neat,  trim. 
Troth,  truth,  vow. 
Trow,  to  make  believe. 
Tryst,   appointment. 

Unco,  uncommon. 
Vauntit,  boasted. 

Wae,  sad,  sorrowful. 
Wabster,  weaver. 
Wag,  shake. 
Warsled,  wrestled. 
Wat,  wet;  also  to  know. 
Wauken,  awaken. 
Waukrife,  watchful,  sleepless. 
Waunert,  wandered. 
Waur,   worse. 
Wean,  a.  child. 
Wee,  little. 
Weel,  well. 

Weel-faur'd,  well-favored. 
Ween,  guess. 

Weir,  war;  also  to  herd. 
Whigmigmorum,  political  ranting. 
Whilk,  which. 
Whussilt,  whistled. 
Wile,  choice. 
Wist,  wished. 
Wizen,  the  throat. 
Wooster-trystes,  wool-markets. 
213 


GLOSSARY 


Wow,  TOW. 
Wysed,  inclined. 

Yate,  gate. 

Yeldrin,  a  yellow-hammer. 
Yird,  earth,  soil. 
Yowes,  ewes. 


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